A Gypsy in Midde Earth
by The Romance Chick
Summary: Jews were not the only persecuted group of the Holocaust. In an atempt to escape the horror, one woman goes to the one place she cannot be followed. LegolasOC. A combination of the books, movie, and my own madness.
1. Chapter 1

A Gypsy in Middle Earth

Don't own none of the the stuff J.R. came up with (oh yeah, 'cause we're chill like that and I can call him J.R. bitches! not really.)

Just so you know. I take quite a bit of liberty with the facts relating to the Roma (or Gypsies being the more popular term), so don't take offense if you happen to be Roma or consider yourself an expert on the matter. This is a work of fiction, after all. For that matter, don't be offended if your an elf and think I've portrayed you inacurately.

Chapter 1

Mari ran as fast as she could. It was difficult to do in the woods, at night, loaded with half of her possessions, but it was worse to think of what was behind her.

The year was 1940. For over a month Nazis had France completely occupied. Mari and her family weren't Jews, however they were of another targeted group of people: gypsies. Her family were of the _Roma_, and traveled to the north in the summer and the south in the winter. At first they thought they would be able to stay in hiding outside of desolate towns in the country side, but soon those were occupied, too.

They were planning to flee from such a town that night. Their plan was to go to a designated spot where they would meet up with a man who had promised to sneak them on a truck would bring them to the coast where a boat that would take them to Spainish soil. Everyone had just finished gathering their belongings when the Gestapo came for them. A group of about eight men came into their camp with guns and dogs. They set fire to the vans and rounded up the her family. As she was ordered by her father to do, Mari ran. She headed for a spot where her family agreed to rendezvous should they be separated in such an instance.

As she ran, all she could hear was the barking of dogs and the far off cries of her family. Trying to block out all noise, Mari concentrated on going in the right direction. If she was on course, she should be approaching a stream soon.

There it was, ahead of her.

Picking up her pace a bit, she ran towards the stream. To throw the dogs off her sent, she jumped in and got herself as wet as she could. She turned left, and continued to run in the water for about 30 feet then, getting out of the stream, continued to run in the direction she was headed before.

The run through the stream may have prevented the dogs from sniffing her trail, but it only helped the cold seep into her body more quickly. She desperately needed to find the cave where she was to meet up with the others. Then, there it was, the large oak. Behind it would be two large bushes, and behind those would be the cave. This was the last stretch. Mari bounded through the bushes, branches scratching at her face and tearing at her clothes. As she ran, she searched her pockets for the small vile containing a white, powdery liquid. Finding it in her front pocket, she doused the base of a tree with it. "It will throw dogs off," she'd been instructed earlier in the day by her father. Once in the cave, she collapsed, exhausted from her ordeal. She then curled herself in a corner and waited for the others to arrive.

She was very cold. Until that moment, adreniline had been pushing her forward, but soon she started to violently shiver. For warmth she wrapped a woolen shawl around her body as well as her lamb's fleece mat that she normally used for sleeping on. Her wet clothes were not helping the situation. She was very afraid of catching hypothermia; she knew she to prevent that from happening she'd have to take off her clothes, but what if she were found? She would not be further disgraced by being found naked.

Five minutes passed when she heard barking again. She held her breath and clutched the rosary around her neck, waiting for what would happen next.

She heard men shouting in German. She didn't want to know what they were saying. Then finally, someone spoke in French, though with a very thick accent.

"Where is she? We know there is one more of you! Tell us where she is!"

"I don't know! I don't know where we are!"

Eric! They had her brother Eric! He was doing a good job of acting, because he knew very well that she was in the cave that was hidden from view only a few yards from where he stood. Soon after his response, the sound of a boot coming into contact with his stomach reached Mari's ears.

"We grow impatient. Where is she?"

"I tell you, I don't kn..."

Before Eric had finish, a gun shot rang out through the woods, then all was silent. Mari clutched her hands over her mouth for fear that she would scream. There was some more speech in German, then the men and dogs went off in another direction. She waited until she could she could hear no sound but the crickets before she allowed herself to cry.

Mari sat sobbing for an hour or so before she came to terms with what had just happened. No one was coming. All her family had been taken. Her mother, father, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews were all caught and would be taken to the camps to die. She was alone in the world.

"I cannot make it alone," she thought. "I have no money; father had it all. I do have some things that could be bartered, but not enough to get me to Spain, and I will **not** sell myself. I don't even know which way Spain is! Well, it's west, but even if I were to try and getting there by myself, the only way west is through town, and that's occupied and patrolled for almost a mile out of town."

It was utterly hopeless. She was penniless with no where to go.

Or was she?

Well, she was definitely without money, but there was one place she could go... maybe. Would it work? She'd never been there and was just as sure she could get there as she could get to Spain, but it was still worth a try. Again, she clutched her rosary as she tried to recall everything her grandmother had taught her in her life.

(flash back)

Janne sat on a stool besides the camp fire with her youngest granddaughter sitting on the ground in front of her.

"Mari, how old are you now?" she asked.

"Ten," she said proudly.

"Ten? You've been growing up too fast! Well, what have you learned in those twelve years?"

"Um..." she thought for a moment, "I know how to sew, and sing, and dance, and climb trees, and cook, and find food in the woods."

"Really!" The old woman was now thoroughly amused. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Well, I don't know why this is here," said the girl turning around and pointing to a tattoo of a strange text inscribed over her right shoulder blade.

The Janne then grew serious. "That's there to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From a spell."

"What kind of spell?"

She eyed Mari carefully, examining the then year old. After a few moments of silence she said, "Mari, you know how you just told me all those things you know? Well, there are almost a thousand things you don't know."

"Like what?"

"Like palm reading, and other forms of fortune telling." She now switched from speaking in French to their native tongue of Romany. "Things like charms, and spells, and remedies. All these things are very important to know as a woman. I will teach them to you, Mari."

The small Mari grew excited. "I want to learn," she exclaimed in Romany.

"Good." She regarded her granddaughter for a moment longer before pulling from her pocket a rosary. It's beads were black and right where the Hail Holy Queen should come there was a shining green, oval stone. "Take this," she said. Mari took it from her and placed it around her neck. "Keep it with you always. You must never lose it."

"Is it blessed?"

"No. It has something much more powerful than a priest's blessing: it has magic."

Mari stared at the beads in wonder, especially at the green stone that glowed brightly in the fire's light.

(end flash back)

Over the next twelve years Mari's grandmother taught her an endless amount things. Just when she thought there was no more she could possibly learn about, she was taught something new. Among these things was a certain spell. She had never actually performed it because it was irreversible. The spell had the power to transport a person to another place. Mari's grandmother hadn't said much more about the place except that it was beautiful and safe. The spell was not in Romany. It was spoken in another ancient language.

Mari's father had taken notice to his mother's teachings and spoke to Mari about them when she was fourteen. That moment came to her mind now, as well.

(yet another flash back)

"Daughter," Elijah said, "Your grandmother has taught you much, is that not so?"

"Yes, she has, father."

"More than she ever taught any of your sisters..." he said in a voice with worry and concern. "She is preparing you for something, Mari. I don't know what, but she has seen it in your future. She told me this some nights ago." He no longer looked her in the eye. Instead his gaze was downcast.

Elijah was silent for a moment longer. "You know," he finally said, "Those things your grandmother teaches you could get you into a lot of trouble," he said, coming back to her eyes. "You'll need to acquire a few other skills, skills I can teach you, since you won't have a husband to protect you."

Mari grew outraged at this remark. "What makes you think I won't have a husband?" she demanded to know.

Her father smiled and nearly laughed. "Mari, your sister who is only a two years older than you, is married, and carrying her first child. Have you even considered marriage?"

She thought for a moment. "No."

"Do you even want to be married?"

"Not yet." Mari hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry, father."

"Don't be sorry. I'm not angry." He patted her head affectionately. "I didn't expect you to want those things. You're very different you know." A look of slight offense came onto Mari's face. "Special is what I meant," he quickly corrected himself. "Mari, you're very special. I simply want you to be safe, which is why I'm going to start teaching you how to fight."

(end flash back)

From then on, at the end of every day, Mari's father would instruct her in several fighting and defense techniques, including hand to hand combat and knife throwing. He also taught her to fence. She didn't learn with the traditional European saber, but instead she learned to use the Arabian saber that had been passed down in her family for centuries. Even once her grandmother died two years ago, her father continued to instruct her. Now, at the age of twenty-one, she was a very formidable fighter. Even though people no longer fought with swords anymore, sword fighting was a skill her family had passed down, much like the sword by which she had learned. Each of her brothers also knew the art, and she and they would often spar deep into the night by the light of the fire.

Her other skills of fighting however, proved the most useful when dealing in skirmishes with unruly towns folk. They now proved useless against Nazi guns, however.

Her mind was made up. She was going to try the spell. What was the worst that could happen? It wouldn't work? That would leave her no better off than she was now. All she needed to do was prepare the things for the spell. To do this, she unwrapped herself and blindly began to search through her bag.

First she needed to start a fire. Easily done. But how to contain it without being caught? A forest fire would surely give her away. Just then, her hand touched something cold and metallic. Ah yes. She'd forgotten about the small bowl she'd packed. This would serve perfectly.

She placed the bowl on the ground in front of herself. Reaching outside of the cave, she grabbed a hand full of dried leaves and dumped them in the pot. She mumbled the words of a spell in Romany and caused the leaves to burst into flames.

Having lit the fire, she began to go over the incantation for the transport in her head. She stood up, and just as she was about to begin she remembered that she needed everything that she was taking with her to be secured to her body. Quickly, she grabbed her mat and rolled it up.

Suddenly she became afraid that the Nazis would find her before she could leave. She folded her mat faster and strapped it to her bag with two buckles on its bottom. Checking herself over, she made sure that she had all her things, and then she began the spell.

Gathering all her energy, she chanted the ancient words the way she'd been taught to. The words reeked of age and power. They rolled off her tongue with weight and purpose. She knew the language (not just these words) well, even though she'd heard no one but her grandmother speak it. It was the ancient language which all of the most powerful of gypsy spells were written and said. Only one woman in each clan knew the words and chose only one woman to succeed them. It was (as so many other things were) a second nature to Mari.

As she chanted she held her hands out, palms facing the fire. She didn't notice what was going on in the cave around her because her eyes were shut; she was locked into the task of performing the spell. Fire now lined the walls of the cavern. The fire in the pot had become a small sphere of white light that glowed in a way that would have hurt her eyes, had they been open. When the last word left her lips, Mari's eyes shot open, seeing for the first time what the cave had transformed into. Then, as she opened her eyes and looked down at the sphere of light, it exploded. The whole cave was overcome by the light. As it hit her, the invisible force from within it pushed her backwards. Soon it was no more a push, but instead a pull. There was no way to describe what she was being pulled through, except as a column or tube of different colored lights. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

A sense of weightlessness hit her. She felt as if there was a vibration of sound running through her very bones. The feeling was blissful for the moment until the most frightening thing occurred to her: she was no longer being pulled backwards. She was falling down.

Even though she no longer felt weightless, the sound was still vibrating in her head, escalating from a hum to a screaming that kept getting louder and louder as she fell. Her pack had fallen away from her body. Too scared to scream, she waited for the eventual bottom of the fall. After a minute more of free fall, the light began to fade away. Eventually she was surrounded by a windy darkness. The tube of light had grown to be so far away that it looked like a star. Soon, more star-like lights came into her vision. Then, without warning, she stopped falling. She was frozen, facing the sky, surrounded by forest. With the intake of a quick breath of relief, she stopped floating and fell three feet.

She hit the ground hard, though not as hard as she would have had she not stopped three feet earlier. Still, the slamming of her body into the ground was enough to leave a mark.

The first thing Mari tried to do was sit up, but it caused too much pain to do so. The vibrating-screaming-hum had gone away, but her head began to spin and her breath became labored. She clutched her head. The last thing that she heard was the sound of a river rushing by before she passed out.

end ch. 1

I'm not a pleased with this story as I am with the other one I'm working on right now (After Forever), but both are coming along. It is what it is. Whatever that means.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sun rising over the tree tops was what woke Mari that next morning. Were it not for this, her tired body could haveeasily rested for several more hours.Slowly, cautiously, she sat up. No greatpain. _I guess those were just temporary effects_, she thought. Then came a new pain; a pain that ate her from the inside out, wrenching at her heart and soul.

Her entire family was dead. She was never going to see them again.

Memories of the night before poured through her mind and she began to sob again, her whole body convulsing. This went on for nearlyan hour, until she managed to make herself stop. _You have to stop_, shetold herself. _You need to concentrate on surviving now. That's what you were taught, and that's what you will do._

She stood up and turned to her left. There she saw the river she'd heard before she passed out. It was very wide and was forested on the opposite side, much like on the side Mari was situated. She found her pack on the ground a few meters away from her. After a brief look around the area, she wasn't entirely sure the spell had worked. It merely looked as though she'd moved herself to another part of France, which certainly didn't pass for "safe" in any respect of the word.

_Wonderful_, she thought. Her feelings of doubt subsided however, as she clutched her rosary. Her grandmother had never misled her before. "The spell _has_ worked," she affirmed out loud, attempting to convince herself. "But where am I?"

As she thought these things, Mari realized she was still very wet from her "swim" in the stream from trying to escape the dogs. According to the laws of nature, being wet in late fall meant she should feel cold, but she noticed how warm the air was. "This isn't right," she concluded.

She looked to her right, at the great river again. If she looked forward she could see it flow on and on, with no sign of it's end in sight. Mariknew that most rivers tended to run south, meaning that to her right was west, to her left was east, and behind her was north. Confirming this was the direction the sun had been rising from. It was now high in the sky; about mid day.

Though it was warm out and she wasn't cold, being wet still wasn't very comfortable. As far as she could judge, there were no other people around, so she began to strip off her outer layers of clothes and lay them on the grass to dry. This was a much longer process than it normally would have been because of the number of sets of clothes she was wearing. In total she had been wearing five skirts, three tops, a thin slip, a light night gown, stockings, and boots. She'd done this in order to make space for things in her bag that would have otherwise been used for clothes. After removing her boots, stockings, and all her wet clothes, Mari was left standing in her undergarments.

Around her legs, much like garter belts, were two small holsters containing small throwing daggers she could use should some one attack her. The one on her left leg was located high on her thigh, while the other on her right leg was a few inches above her knee. This placement of the two holsters made it easier to move her legs when running.

Mari thought it a good idea to furtherinspect her surroundings. The best way to go about it, she thought, would be to climb the tallest climbable tree. From the top of it she would be able to see for miles around.

As she searched the bows of the trees for limbs she could easily grasp, something caught her eye. From afar, it looked like a knot in a tree trunk, except that it sparkled a familiar green color. Taking a closer look, Mari discovered that it was a green stone that had been embedded into the trunk of a very large tree. In fact, it was the same type of stone as the one strung to her rosary; it had the same beautiful luster and when she ran her finger tips over it she found that it had the same smooth texture. Beneath it were words carved in the ancient text; the language that Mari had used to perform the spell. They read:

You are now far from where you started

And far from where you'll end;

From your origins you have departed

And here your life shall you spend.

Granddaughter, you have made it!

You've completed the spell you cast!

Now take the day and seize it

And every day until your last.

"Granddaughter? My grandmother wrote this?" she thought, dumbfounded. "That means she was here! She knew the spell would work! I'm not in France any more!"

With complete reassurance, Mari sped up to the top of the tree, but before doing so she took one of her daggers and pried the stone from the tree. As not to lose it, she placed it in one of the small pockets on her holster. (She usually kept special seeds there and other small things she found.) Once at the top of the tree, she was amazed by what she saw. The river did indeed go on forever, or at least it looked that way. It would turn a bit every now and again, but stayed mostly straight, disappearing into the horizon. Off in an easterly and northeasterly direction were flat plains that also stretched out as far as the eye could see.

North, on the horizon, were white, snow capped mountains, just barely visible to the naked eye. Most of the west was covered in dense forest for many miles, up until a point where a vast mountain range crossed the land. Far to the east were large, dark, and ominous mountains. The mere sight of them chilled Mari to the bone. She did her best to overt her gaze from them.

Also east, (not nearly as far as the dark mountains), was a road that looked almost as long as the river, possessing the same great straightness. It lay a mile or so away from where she stood perched in the tree. About three miles up the road was a group of people on horse back. Mari thought it to be the strangest thing. There was no hint of a stable or any other structure where a horse could be kept. Then it hit her that they were on a road. _They must be traveling_, she concluded, but then back tracked. _Traveling? Who travels on horse now a days?_

Mari tried to make out who they were. All she was able to distinguish was that they were all men. _Wonderful_, she thought. _There's a pack of strange men near by. I'm not willing to find out if they're the type that would help or harm me. I think I'll just hide here until they pass this part of the wood._ Upon making her decision, she climbed down from the tall tree. By the time she reached the bottom, her clothes were all dry, so she dressed herself and started to fold the extra sets of clothes. To wear, she'd chosen the lightest of her skirts and a top. Her shawl she wrapped tightly around her waist like a sash. She then stuffed all that she could into her bag, while the rest she rolled inside her mat.

Just as she strapped her mat to her bag, an annoyed voice boomed, "Are you dressed yet?"

She looked up and saw two eyes and a mouth staring down at her from a tree. She let lose a scream that echoed in the silence of the wood, causing a flock of small birds to flee above the tree tops. "Be quiet, you loud thing!"

Mari fell backward, onto her bottom, silenced and dumbstruck by the creature's command.

"That's better," it said with a sigh of relief. It soon noticed how frightened and upset the young human in front of it had become. She was visibly shaking and her eyes had grown to the size of saucers. The tree creature tried to console her.

"Calm down boy," it said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I...I'm a woman," she said, her voice shaking in fear.

"What?"

"A..a girl."

"Are you? All you humans look alike to me! But just the same, calm down, please."

"You mean, you're not going to eat me or anything?" she questioned.

"No! Of course not!"

Once the tree creature affirmed that it wasn't a threat some of her courage came back to her, though not entirely. After all, the creature was very intimidating.

"Where do you get off scaring me like that!" she yelled, still very scared. "I nearly had a heart attack! What's wrong with you? That was so rude!"

"Whoa there!" the creature boomed, once again silencing Mari. "Slow down, young one! I didn't mean to frighten you. I simply wanted to know if you were done changing so that I didn't have to shield my eyes any more. I only wanted to give you your privacy. So _hasty_ you young humans can be..."

She thought for a moment and took in what just happened. "Oh," she said, not really knowing what else to say. _What does one say to a tree?_she wondered.She found her voice and continued. "I forgive you, then. It's just that I've never seen a talking tree before. It's quite a frightening thing to see for the first time."

"I wouldn't really know, but I suppose you're right. However, I'm not a tree, mind you, I'm an Ent."

"I see... And might you know where I am, Ent?"

"I have a name you know!" he boomed again.

"Sorry!" she apologized quickly, not wasting to offend the Ent.. "What is it?" she asked meekly.

"Treebeard."

"That's a...fine name." She had wanted to say odd name, but she didn't want to change the intentions of this terribly intimidating creature. "So, _Treebeard_," she emphasized his name, "Might you know where I am?"

"Well, I have only been as far as the edge of these woods my whole life. I only know where this is in relation to a few places. What I can say is that you are far south of Isenguard and west of the Anduin River, and that the name of this place is Fangorn Forest."

"Hmmm. I see." None of this information could very well help her, but it was a start.

"You know, that was quite a scream before! I wouldn't be surprised if it was heard for miles around, not that there would be any one to hear..."

Mari froze. "Um, excuse me."

"Yes?"

"Hypothetically speaking, is there any one within miles of here I should be worried of?"

"No. Nothing lives near here, save I and others of my kind. Why? Did you see someone?"

"I did. When I was up the tree, I saw five men on horse back on the road. By now they should be less than a mile from here."

"On the road!" exclaimed the ent. "Nothing of a good sort ever travels that road, only thieves and rouges. They surely heard you, and if they did they probably picked up their pace. You'd best hide!"

Not taking the time to think about the fact that a tree was giving her instructions, she buried her bag under a pile of leaves near the trunk of a tree. "Thank you for your help," she said, but when she turned around she realized that the ent had vanished. The idea of a vanishing, talking tree-thing phased her for a moment before she sprung up the nearest tree to hide. She reached under her skirt and pulled two knives from the holster above her right knee and waited to see if any one would come.

For a few minutes all she could hear was the sound of the river's rushing water. _The Anduin_, she thought. _It means 'Great River' in the ancient tongue_.

Soon she could hear soft hoof beats coming from behind her. She tensed and held her breath. Her heart beat hard inside her chest and into her back. As one of the men on horse back came into view below her, the grip on her knives loosened, ready to let them fly. The sight she saw was strange, to say the least.

The horse was exceptionally beautiful, but normal enough, its rider however, was far from average. The man mounted had a mane nearly as long as that of his horse. He faced the river staying perfectly still and silent, as if listening for something. For a moment she feared he could hear the loud pounding of her heart. Slowly he steered his horse to the left, now facing south.

Again, he was still and silent; listening. Mari could now see his profile and noticed that two long braids of his hazel hair framed his face. His profile showed a man from days of old. His torso was clothed in a gray knit tunic, along with a brown felt cowl with the hood thrown off; brown britches of soft leather showed strong legs, accustomed to riding. All 'round, he was hansom; the hilted sword at his side suggested that he was also dangerous.

_Please don't let him see me_, she wished with all her might. In accordance with her fantastic luck, he turned his horse again and immediately saw her.

_Wonderful_, she thought.

Mari's right hand sent one of her knives sailing through the air; her target was his head.

The rider tensed. His horse, sensing this, reared back on its hind legs out of fear. Due to the added height of the horse, the knife missed his head and lodged itself right between his left shoulder and collar bone. He cried out in pain as the knife hit and was thrown from to the ground from atop his saddle.

Almost instantly, she could hear the hard hoof beats of his companions coming to his aid. She leaped down from the tree and eyed the man on the ground as his horse trotted in nervous circles around his body, nudging his leg with its nose every now and then. The only sign of motion coming from him were the heavy breaths rising from his chest. Not waiting for the others to arrive, she took off into the forest, not knowing where she was headed.

_Oh this is a safe place, indeed_, she thought as she ran, recalling the words of her grandmother.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, but that didn't seem to be good enough because someone she hadn't seen before grabbed her from behind.

"Uhgah!" she cried out as he tackled her to the ground. Mari tried to break free of his grip, but he was too strong, and it was far too difficult to do while lying on her face. So she struggled and managed to roll over so that his back was on the ground and her weight was on him. Taking the knife that she still had in her left hand, she sliced across his left fore arm.

He cried out into her ear, leaving her nearly deaf. In his momentary laps, he let go of her, at which pointshe took the opportunity to run. As she began to run she heard the man yell out to her in another language. A few steps later she felt a hand claw the back of her shirt a few times before he had a good hold of her. He pulled her back slightly, but she twisted and turned in his grip, so much so that when he let go she spun around. She found herself face to face with a tall blond man, similar in appearance to the first on horse back, except for the unnatural expression of fury on his face. This was when he grabbed her again and pushed her on her back. He then straddled and sat on her, holding her wrists down above her head.

She kicked and shouted, but it did no good. "Let me go! Let me go, you fuck!" she screamed at him in French. He looked at her quizzically when she spoke. It was then Mari realized that he didn't understand what she was saying. It had never occurred to her that the people of this land didn't speak French. _Then how was I could speak to the ent?_ she wondered.

While it was apparent that her words had confused him, he had understood their general sentiment and there was now more anger than anything else written on his face. He shouted to her in the language again and grew frustrated when she didn't understand and instead continued to struggle and cursed in French. This apparently grew to be too much for him, so finally he slapped her hard across the face. In return she spat at him, landing a wad of saliva just below his right eye. This was when she heard words of the ancient tongue.

"Where did she go," called one of two men approaching.

"I have her," called back the man on top of her.

"What have you gotten out of her?" asked the other who had not spoken yet.

"Nothing," replied the man on top of her, turning to the one questioning. "All she does is babble non-sense... and scream. Loudly."

"Is it possible that she's mad?" asked one of them.

As they spoke Mari was still and had stopped shouting. "You speak the Tongue?" she asked in the ancient words.

Three sets of eyes grew wide with wonder, but quickly the man sitting on her grew angry again. "How is it you speak Sindarin," he demanded as he shook her once.

Her lip quivered in fear and tears began to well up in her eyes. _What are these people going to do to me?_ she thought, terrified.

"Answer me," he yelled at her, shaking her body again.

"M...m...my grandmother taught me," she said.

"Who was she?"

"They called her Janne the wise." Mari no longer fought back. If these men spoke "Sindarin", as they called it, then they were no ordinary men, and perhaps much more dangerous than she originally thought. Fear silenced her as she squinted her eyes shut to hold back her tears.

"Whether she speaks Sindarian or not is of no importance now," said one of the men at his side. "Why did you try to kill Milhir!"

"I was afraid he was going to hurt me."

"Why would you think that," asked the other man.

"Because, nothing of the good sort ever travels the road," she said, quoting Treebeard, "And it seems his companions are no better." She hadstuggled enough to sit up, but was quickly slammed back down. She cried out in pain as she was hit again in the same way as she'd fallen to the ground the night before.

The three men were silent for a moment. Finally, one said, "For the most part that is true, but in recent years the roads have become safer."

"Then why are you trying to violate me?" she asked in a meeker voice.

All three looked astonished. "No one is going to do anything of the sort," said the blond man holding her down.

"Then why are you on top of me?" she asked flatly.

"Because you tried to kill one of my friends!" he shouted.

"Because I thought he was going to rape me!" she shouted back with tears in her eyes feeling a thousand times braver knowing they wouldn't rape her, but still unsure if they wouldn't kill her.

There was another moment of silence. "Legolas, get off her. It's plain she's telling the truth," said one of the men standing.

"Yes, I agree. She seems confused, like she doesn't understand," said the other.

The blond man looked at her annoyed, but complied to his friends' request. He yanked her to her feet along with him. Just as she began to dust herself off, he roughly grabbed her by the arm.

"Let go!" she protested.His grip only grew stronger.

"Stop squirming," he said to her in a harsh way that actually did make her stop for a moment. Turning to the other two men he spoke.

"While it may be true that she was acting out of defense, that still doesn't explain how she can speak Sindarin _or_ what she's doing almost a week's journey from any form of human civilization. It seems more than a coincidence we should stumble upon her, especially considering the _reason_ for our travel."

She looked to the first man who had persuaded her captor to release her. He, as the man on the horse, had long, light brown hair, however, the two braids he had were tied to the back of his head. His kind green eyes gave her a feeling of reassurance. They reminded her of the stone on her rosary. The man standing to his side, however, was blond like Legolas. They're striking features reminded her too much of the idyllic men found on Nazi propaganda posters.

_Legolas? Is that his name, _she thought_. And the man I stabbed... Milhir? What strange names..._

The green eyed man then sighed. "Fine," he said to Legolas, "Your worries are justifiable, but we know nothing of her, so please don't treat her like a criminal. If it makes you happy, we can bring her with us. Aragorn might know her, and if he doesn't he'll decide what to do with her."

"All right," said Legolas to the man, still not very pleased by the entire situation. "Come," he said turning to Mari, his voice dripping with disdain "We have to check on your 'attacker'." He began to pull her in the direction of the river before the green eyed man stopped him.

"Wait," he called, "I'd like to speak with her."

"Fine," he said, releasing her and storming off toward the river. The other blond man was at his side.

"Hello," said her savior with a warm smile after the other two men had left. "I am Alidar. Who are you?"

"My name is Mari of the _Maonuches_."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mari. Please, allow me to apologize for my hot headed friend. The land he comes from is filled with danger and often times he feels there is evil lurking at every turn. He's also somewhat upset because you cut him."

Mari smiled at his last comment. "Yes, that tends to make people angry," she said sarcastically. This made the man chuckle a bit. She was still very uneasy about every thing and still had no real reason to feel safe, but talking to this man was some how calming. It was something about the sound of his voice.

"Well, that could last for a few days. But don't worry; I'll make sure he doesn't do anything to you."

_Do anything? _she wondered, growing a little more nervous_. What does he mean by that?_

"Legolas was right about one thing, though," he continued. "We should check on Milhir."

"Oh goodness! That's right," she exclaimed. "Perhaps there's something I could do to help him."

"I doubt that would be necessary, but let's go."

Alidar jogged back to the river. To keep up with him, Mari had to almost run.

When they arrived, kneeling next to Milhir was the fifth member of the traveling party. Mari was immediately at the other side of the man she had stabbed. The man across from her stopped attending to the wound for a moment and observed her.

"It's her," shouted Milhir in anger, backing away slightly.

"It's all right," said Alidar, calming him, though he still kept giving Mari distrusting sideways glances.

She looked up from his wound and was taken aback by the intense stare that met her. For a moment she became lost in the immense depth of his eyes, until she force herself to blink. "You're a fine healer," was all she could say.

The man gave her a smirk then turned to Alidar who was also smirking.

"Do you know how to treat wounds," he asked in a deep voice.

"Yes, I do," she replied.

"Good. See to Legolas. I think he's bleeding." He said no more to her and turned his attention back to Milhir.

_Ah yes. Legolas_. While she did hate him, she didn't find that reason enough for him to die of infection. After all, she was willing to forgive and forget; it was just that he was the one being dreadful toward her. Or perhaps he was the only one not deceiving her.

_Maybe this will help me get on his good side_, she hoped. If there was anything she disliked, it was people being mad at her.

She went to the pile of leaves where she'd burried her bag earlier. Digging it out, she found her box of herbs an salves. She approached Legolas cautiously. He had already rolled up his sleeve and was examining the damage she'd done. Beside him was the other blond haired man, helping him clean the wound.

"What is it," he asked Mari when he noticed her.

"I'd like to clean your friend's arm properly."

"By all means," he said handing her the cloth.

Legolas gave him a look as if he were being handed to Death's clutches. As Mari knelt down next to where he was sitting and reached out to examine him, he ripped his arm away from her and clutched it. _Okay_, she thought, _This is getting annoying_.

"I'm not going to let the likes of you handle my arm," he growled at her.

She narrowed her eyes in anger. "Look," she said, "I apologize for doing that to you, but I told you why I did it. Everyone seems to understand but you. Now, would you stop acting like a child and give me your arm!" Mari didn't realize that she had ended up shouting, but everyone else had. They watched, amused, as Legolas handed his arm to her, as if being ordered by his mother.

The cut, she concluded, wasn't deep enough to need to be sewn up, but it did need to be patched. When his arm was finally clean, she opened her box and pulled out a jar of one of her creams.

"What's that," he asked.

"It's a special cream. It will disinfect and heal the cut. There shouldn't be a noticeable scar if I leave enough of it on and keep reapplying."

He watched silently as she rubbed the cream evenly over his skin. She then covered the gash in strips of gauze and wrapped his arm in a bandage to hold the gauze in place. Once she had finished, he examined the wrapping with little satisfaction.

"You're welcome," said Mari, annoyed after too many moments of his silence.

"You're very skilled," said the other blond man next to her.

"Thank you," she said to him with a smile. They began to walk towards Alidar, who was standing a bit away from where Milhir had been propped up against a tree.

He smiled back at her. "My name is Iflaím."

"I'm Mari."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Excuse Legolas. He's grateful, really. Isn't that right?" Legolas walked pass them without acknowledgment. "Or at least, he will be grateful when it heals."

"I suppose," she said, not really believing that he was telling the truth. Just then, they came up to Alidar and Legolas. She looked back to the other injured man. "Will he be okay?"

"Milhir is fine," said Alidar, "Though Elrond thinks it best that he not travel the rest of the day. We'll be making camp here."

"That is good news," said Mari, letting out a breath of relief.

"Yes, it is," responded Alidar walking away, then remembering something and turning back to her. "Oh, Mari, he wants to speak with you."

"Who?" she asked.

"Elrond."

Mari became a little worried once again. Elrond was the last of the five men. The look he'd given her was still haunting her, and now he wanted to talk to her?

She stood aside waiting for him to finish attending to the wound. When he was through he walked up to her, then in a full circle around her, stopping in front of her again.

"Walk with me," he finally said to her.

They walked in silence for a few minutes until they were far from ear shot of the other four men. Mari took this time to observe him. Unlike the others who wore pants or leggings and tunics, he wore a long evergreen robe with gold trimming. This trim was in the pattern of leaves at his cuffs. At his waist was strapped a long sword, cased in an elegant sheath that was covered in silver, much like the band about his head.

"I have yet to learn your name, child," he said.

Normally she would be infuriated if someone called her child, but there was something about the manner in which he said it that she didn't mind.

"I am Mari of the _Maonuches_," she told him. "I'm told that you're Elrond."

He smirked at her again. "Yes, I am."

"Why do you smile like that? You did it before, too."

"Well," he began, "There are few that would say my name so casually."

"Why is that?"

"Because, I am a king."

Mari was shocked. She couldn't believe she was walking with royalty. "Oh," she said. "Where is your kingdom," she asked, trying to maintain her calm and keep the conversation casual.

"All who speak Sindarin know that!" He turned to her. Almost instantly his tone grew serious and inquisitive. "How is it that you speak Sindarian?"

"My grandmother taught me."

"I'm going to need a little more information from you."

"I'm not sure you'd believe me."

"You'd be surprised by how open minded I can be."

She paused for a moment. "All right. I'll tell you all you want to know, so long as you tell me what I want to know."

Elrond looked a little astonished at her. "Are you bargaining with me?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"There are few that would dare do such a thing."

Things were silent for a moment longer.

"So, do we have a deal?"

He laughed again. "Yes! Yes, we do! Start with how you can know Sindarian and what you're doing here."

So, Mari relayed her tale of how her grandmother had taught her spells and other things in the Sindarian tongue, and how she'd used one such spell and found herself in a strange forest the night before. She told how the ent had told her about the dangers of the road and how it told her to hide. She stopped after the part where she stabbed Milhir.

"I'm truly sorry for hurting those two men."

Elrond laughed again, then moved so that he was standing straight in front of her. "Look at my face," he said. "What do you notice that is different?"

She observed him for a few moments. "Well, you very tall," she said first. "And your eyes."

"What about them?"

"They're...old."

"Yes." He smiled warmly.

"And your ears," she exclaimed, surprised.

"Yes," he said chuckling. "My dear, I must inform you, we are not men."

She let this sink in for a moment, her eyes widening. "Well, if you're not men, then what are you? And where am I where creatures that seem so much like men are not?"

"One question at a time!" He explained how she was now in Middle Earth, near a region called Gondor. "I and my companions are elves."

"Elves!" Mari exclaimed. "This is a world of elves?"

"Not only elves; many other things dwell the the land of Middle Earth." He told her of Elves, and Men, and Dwarfs, and Hobbits, and Ents. He also told of the fouler things, like Yurch. "I believe that answers you question," he said when he was through. "Now, for my next question. Where did you learn to throw with such deadly accuracy?"

Now it was Mari's turn to laugh. "My father taught me," she said. "He wanted me to be able to protect myself."

"From what?"

"From people." Mari began to explain how her people were much despised by the rest of her world because of their way of life. "It seems that in a place like Middle Earth, where there are so many different people and cultures, people would have given more respect to the Gypsy people." She then told about the Nazis, and how they were annihilating her people and others as she spoke. "That's why I came here," she finished, "To escape the Nazis."

"These Naht-Zees must be horrible creatures to do such things.

"No," she said, mournfully. "That is the saddest part. They are men. Just men..."

"And your family? Did they escape to Middle Earth?"

At the mention of her loved ones, silent tears began to gather in her eyes. "They were taken."

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping her tears. "It must be very hard for you to be alone now; as you told me, you've always traveled in caravans, am I right?"

"Yes. I'm afraid finding my way through this land alone will prove to be some task."

"Well, you shan't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"Alidar told you that you're coming with us to see Aragorn, did he not?"

"Briefly. And I thought he was just saying that to calm Legolas. Who is this Aragorn, and what right had he to decide what becomes of me? What if I refuse to go; will you take me as some sort of prisoner?"

"You never cease to amaze me with your directness," he said bluntly. "First of all, yes, it was mostly to calm Legolas. Second, Aragorn is the king of Gondor. He is a fair and just man and will only want to help you in any way he can. Besides that, it is much safer for you to be traveling with my party. As I told you before, many evil things live in Middle Earth as well, and you cannot ask for better luck than to run into a group of elves, especially these. Lastly, if you'd like to look at it as being held prisoner then that is your choice, but you are coming with us whether you want to or not." A stillness followed his words, a stillness that stretched throughout the wood, almost as if everything in the forest had stopped.

"All right," she said after a minute of the quiet. "At least tell me why it is we're headed for Gondor in the first place."

"We are invited guests to his wedding. He is marrying my daughter, Arewen, and I am to conduct the ceremony."

"Congratulations," she said civilly, still in a fury over her prisoner status.

"Thank you," he said with the truest of sincerity. He looked up at the sky, then back to Mari. "We have learned much from each other over these past few hours, but the sun is setting. We should return to camp before night falls."

The elf and the young woman walked back to the camp site. It had gotten to be some what cooler, so she was relived to find that a fire had been started. The others sat around the fire, laughing and joking, except for Milhir, who was seated at the base of the same tree as before, now with his eyes closed. The elves hushed as Elrond's presence became known. He approached the fire with Mari at his side. Pulling a pipe from his robe he said, "I'll be at the river's bank." He lit the pipe and walked off to the shore. As he walked away, conversation started again.

It was only now that she realized she still had her box with her. She'd been clutching it for dear life all the while she spoke with Elrond. After putting it away in her bag, she quietly walked over to Milhir and knelt down next to him, tucking her skirt under her legs.

He opened his eyes and turned to her. "You walk very quietly for a human."

"I suppose so," she replied, not quite knowing if he had complimented or insulted her. "I'm so sorry for doing this to you," she said, gesturing toward his bandage. "It's just that I thought..."

He cut her off. "Alidar told me everything. I forgive you."

She was astounded. "Just like that? You don't even care that I wanted to kill you?"

"Some of my best friendships have started with me trying to kill someone!" This made her laugh a little. "You very good with those daggers, you know; a fair aim you have."

"I was aiming for your head."

"Yes, but I have astonishing luck."

This made her laugh a bit louder, catching the attention of the others around the fire.

"What are you two laughing about," probed Alidar.

"I hope you're not talking about us," quipped Iflaím

"Nothing of the sort," Milhir called back.

"How would your wife feel if she knew you were off charming young mortal girls," teased Alidar.

"Ach! What that she-elf doesn't know can't hurt her!"

Laughter erupted from everyone, except Legolas, who had been scowling ever since Mari and Elrond returned. "Come sit by the fire," Alidar called to her.

"It's good to have your forgiveness," she said to Milhir before she went over to the others, sitting herself between Iflaím and Alidar, and across from Legolas. She could she him just beyond the tips of the flames. Everything about the way he looked at her was cold, from his frozen, set jaw, to the steel blue of his eyes.

"What's wrong with him," she thought. "I nearly killed Milhir, and he's upset over a little scratch?"

"Mari," called someone, interrupting her thoughts. "We were just talking about home. Your home, what is it like?"

"My home, well, I'm not from Middle earth," she said. They all looked at her in amazement.

"Where are you from, then," asked Iflaím.

"Another world. It looks much like this one but its so... different. The sounds, the smells, the... inhabitants," she said looking to each one of them, "Are all so new to me here. Even the stars aren't the same," she said as she gazed at the sky. "This world is filled with beauty and wonder. I knew beauty and wonder, for a time, but soon everything became the same, each town like the next, all people like all others..."

The three elves around the fire didn't know what she was talking about at this point, but they did sense the feeling of loss in your voice as she talked about her home.

"Do you miss it?" asked Iflaím again.

"There is nothing for me there. I won't be going back."

All were quiet. They did not question her further.

"Where are all you from?" she finally asked.

"Lord Elrond, Milhir, and I," said Alidar, "Are from the kingdom of Rivendel."

"And Legolas and I," said Iflaím, "Are from his father's kingdom of Mirkwood."

"His father's kingdom?" she asked, confused.

"Yes. His proper title is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood." Iflaím smirked and took a quick glance at Legolas, as if there were a joke he weren't telling out loud.

"A prince," she said smiling coyly at Legolas. "Hmm. It seems I'm up to my neck in royal blood!"

They all laughed, even Milhir, who she thought had been asleep, joined in the chorus of laughter. Legolas remained as straight faced as ever.

_Will he ever smile?_ she wondered.

The laughter died down eventually. "I'm going to enjoy having you on this trip to make us laugh," said Milhir.

"I'm glad you would have me," she said looking back to Legolas, who's wrath still hadn't smoldered. She truly was glad that she was coming with them now, even if she was a prisoner andeven if one of them hated her... for now. She then let out a long yawn. "I'm very tired," she said next. "I think I'm going to go to sleep."

"You should," said Alidar. "We have along day ahead of us."

"How far is Gondor from here?" she asked with a second yawn.

"Aragorn's city is nearly four days journey from here."

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest as well?"

"Elves don't need as much sleep as humans," answered Iflaím.

"Oh. Good night then." She went over to where her bag and mat were and unrolled her mat. The clothes inside of it she used as a pillow. _I'll leave these skirts here, along with my extra shirts,_ she decided. _It's too much to take with me. If we're going to a city, I'll be able to barter for some new sets of clothes._

She lay on left her side, facing the fire, as not to continue the swelling of the bruises on her back. An image of Legolas' intense blue eyes appeared in her mind. Curling her legs close to her body into a ball, she fell asleep.

Indeed, I have updated. Enjoy y'all! I still don't like this story as much as some of my others, but I have an idea of where it's going and I'm trying.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She felt someone touch her lightly on her shoulder, waking her up. She stretched her arms out above her head and yawned as she opened her eyes. She was surprised to she Legolas' head above her as he knelt on one knee next to her. She gasped out from the feeling of de ja vu she felt rushing through her.  
"What do you want," she asked him tentatively.  
"Elrond asked me to wake you up," he said. "And...I want to let you know that I've forgiven you."  
"How gracious of you," she said, groaning as she sat up. The pains were still in her back.  
"Well, if you're not going to take me seriously..." He began to stand up.  
"No! No," she said grabbing his sleeve as she rubbed her eyes with her other hand. "I'm thankful for your forgiveness, really, I am. I'm just not very good at waking up sometimes."  
He looked her over once. "Yes, well, we're leaving soon. Get your things ready." He began to walk away, but then turned around. "And do be more careful about exposing your...knives."  
Mari looked down to her legs, noticing that in her sleep her skirt had moved and was caught above the holster right above her knee. She looked back up at him slowly, quite embarrassed. She caught the very satisfied glint in he eye before he turned away from her and walked off towards the horses.  
When his back was turned, she was sure to give him a good glare.

Alidar popped up behind her, seemingly out of no where. "Was Legolas bothering you?"  
"Not really. He was just saying I should pack up"  
He gave her a stern look for a moment before speaking again. "And so you should. We're leaving soon." Then, he walked off in the same direction as the disgruntled prince.

Mari quickly reached a small clearing where she found the elves packing and mounting their horses. She noticed that Milhir wasn't mounting his own. As Mari entered the clearing, he motioned with the arm of his good side for her to come to him.  
"You're not riding your horse?" she asked.  
"No," he stated sadly. "Elrond thinks me too weak to ride alone. I'll be riding with Iflaím the rest of the way. You may mount Stiro."  
She bubbled over with excitement when she realized that Stiro was the name of his horse. "Truly?" she asked.  
"Yes," he said, amused by her reaction. "If you'd like to, you may ride him. He's oddly fond of strangers. Once he understood you were not trying to kill me, he became rather curious about you. Do you know how to ride, or would you need Alidar or Legolas to guide him for you?"  
"Oh, that won't be necessary," she said as she smiling rubbed Stiro's nose. "I can ride on my own." She acquainted herself with him before she strapped her bag securely to his back. In one swift movement, she swung her right leg over his back. Settling into the saddle, she made sure her skirt hadn't ridden up and grabbed a hold of the reins. Iflaìm smirked at her as she settled herself atop the saddle. She noticed. "What?" she asked.  
"You don't ride side saddle!"  
"Well, given the circumstance, I think it's the best way to ride. After all, I can ride faster, and its safer this way."  
"She's right, you know," said Alidar as he rode past Iflaìm, Milhir, and Mari, and up to Elrond to plot out the day's travels.  
"Yes, Yes, I know she's right," he called to Alidar, though he wasn't listening. "I'm just amazed by her strangeness."  
"I heard that," Mari called back, playfully as she rode to catch up with Alidar.

The company rode in good spirits, save for the sulking prince. As they rode on, the sun began to rise. The whole earth was bathed in its golden rays. That which could not be seen in the dawn's twilight was now clearly visible; vines climbing up the sides of tall trees, small animals scurrying beneath the fauna, and the gigantic mark on the side of Mari's face.  
"What happened to your face?" exclaimed Alidar upon noticing her injury.  
"What's wrong with it?" Mari asked, sounding a bit anxious.  
"It's incredibly bruised!"  
She reached her hand up, touching her cheek, but immediately pulling her had away. It was incredibly painful to touch. She winced.  
"How did that happen?" he asked, both confused and alarmed.  
At first, she couldn't remember, but then it was very clear to her.  
"Someone hit me."  
All eyes except Elrond's were instantly upon her.  
"Who?" demanded Iflaím.  
Her eyes strayed to Legolas. Mari wasn't sure if she should tell. Legolas disliked her enough as it was. Nothing would be achieved by tattling.  
"I...I can't say."  
"Why not?" questioned Alidar.  
"Because... I didn't see who it was," she said, reverting her gaze to Alidar. "It was in the forest, before you all showed up. Something attacked me. That's when I climbed up the tree and why I was so on edge, eventually leading me to hurt Milhir.  
They didn't stop staring at her. They knew she was lying.

"She doesn't have to tell if she doesn't want to. Things reveal themselves in time," Elrond called from up ahead.  
She was quickly relieved.  
"Do you have any other, more serious, injuries?" Alidar inquired, concern in his voice.  
"No," she quickly responded. She was lying. Her back was still hurting from when she fell from the sky the day before. There were several cuts she felt should probably be cleaned and have some antiseptic on them, but she didn't feel much like stopping. They weren't that serious any way.

They rode hard all day. They rested only once and for a very short time over the course of the entire day. Mari thought that the horses must have been of amazing stock to be able to ride so hard for so long. In the late afternoon they stopped and set up camp.  
"Why do we stop?" asked Mari. "It's not nearly dark."  
"Yes," said Milhir, "But we are waiting for some one to met us here."  
Mari grew curious. "Who is coming? Is he an elf as well? Is he from Gondor? Will this person come with us to Gondor?"  
"So many questions, young one," Alidar said, bemusedly. "We are actually waiting for three others. Yes, they are elven, and yes, they will be coming with us to Gondor. The rest you will find out when they arrive. For now, I suggest you rest and help to set up camp." The last part he said as he dismounted.  
She dismounted as well and followed him with Milhir's horse to where he was leading his own. Moments later they had reached a spot where Legolas and Elrond had already tied their horses. Iflaím's horse was standing near by also. He had dismounted and was carefully helping Milhir to get down. Seeing this, Mari had another flash of guilt.  
Iflaím saw the grief written on her face. "Legolas," he called.  
"Yes?" the surly prince responded.  
"Attend to Milhir, would you? There's something I need to do." Just before Legolas came over to help Milhir, Iflaím whispered to Milhir, "If any one asks, Mari and I are getting fire wood."  
As Legolas started to get Milhir settled, Iflaím came up to Mari. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Would you come with me?"  
"She looked at him confusedly. "Where are we going?"  
"To get fire wood."  
"Um, all right."

They walked for several minutes in silence, picking up bits of wood. Finally she broke the silence.  
"Do all elven conversations begin in silence?"  
"What do you mean?" he asked, smirking.  
"It's obvious you want to tell me something."  
"You're rather perceptive."  
"Thank you," she said with a large smile and her nose in the air.  
He gave her an odd look. "And a bit cocky as well."  
"So I've been told."  
He paused for a moment, then saying, "Don't be so hard on yourself for what you did to Milhir. Elves heal faster than humans, you know. Besides, all have forgiven you."  
"All except one..."  
"Yes, I've noticed how Legolas regards you and I can see how it causes discomfort, but know that he is wary at first with all new people he meets. Soon enough he will let his guard down when he is around you. My advice until then is to ignore him."  
"I'll try,"she said.  
He continued. "You must understand that elves are beings of extremes; extreme happiness or extreme sadness, extreme love or extreme loathing."  
"Well, it seems I have a long way to go until he's madly in love with me."  
Iflaím laughed. "That you do, that you do! Until then, try to keep yourself in check when in his presence."  
She stayed silent for a moment. "I'll keep that in mind."  
"You'd best do that."  
There was another comfortable silence between them as they gathered more  
wood.  
"So Mari," he said after a moment, "Tell me about where it is you come from. You didn't say much last night."  
She thought for a moment.  
"In many ways my world is much like this one; the trees are green, the sky is blue. But everything here is so much more alive. Magic still lives here, I can feel it."  
"And in your world, is the practice of magic dead?"  
A far off look passed over her face. "So much is dead in my world. It is  
not suppressing that magic died with it all."  
"But you journeyed here, did you not? If not by magic, then how?"  
"Magic?" she questioned, turning to face him. "I never called it magic. I suppose one could call it magic, but I always just thought of it as a skill."  
"Magic is a skill, Mari! A skill greatly valued in all of Middle Earth."  
She stood silently in thought again. Iflaím regarded her speculatively before interrupting her silence. "Come now, Mari. We have enough wood and should be getting back."

When they returned the moods of the camp were generally better. Even Legolas was smiling. This was a bit odd for Mari to see, being that as far as she had seen he had neither the want nor capacity to express any emotion besides contempt when in her presence. As soon as he realized she and Iflaím had returned however, his expression became solemn and stern again, not quite as mean as it had been before, though. Nor were his eyes as filled with an ice-like sheen. They had changed to a softer sky blue.  
She looked into those eyes and was struck with a lessened version of the fear she'd felt when she'd first seen them, yet she found her feet taking her toward him. She wasn't sure what it was she feared about those eyes, but she couldn't tear herself from them as she neared him. As she got closer his gaze grew darker. When she had finally walked up to where he sat with Milhir,  
Legolas glared up at her.  
"Yes?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.  
It was then she remembered she had no reason for approaching them. Thinking quickly she said, "I came to see if your wounds had been re-wrapped."  
"Alidar already did it," he said, nudging his head in the direction where Alidar was standing, talking to Elrond. "Why?" he continued. "Were you looking for a chance to reopen our healing cuts?"  
"Legolas!" Milhir exclaimed.  
His words had truly hurt her. After all she had been through in three days she did not have enough energy to feel angry at him. Only very hurt. She could only stare into the depths of those eyes that she feared with her own sorrowful expression.  
"I think I'll go help Iflaím start the fire." With that she walked back to Iflaím who had set to work digging a small pit for the fire.

POV switch? why, i think so...

Milhir was in astounded at what the Prince had said He turned to him.  
"What's gotten into you? Why are you so uncivil toward her?"  
Legolas kept his gaze fixed on her as she walked away. "Tell me you don't feel it," he implored Milhir. "Tell me you don't feel it...when she looks at you!"  
"Sympathy?"  
"No! It's something else. Something stronger. There's sympathy, yes, but something else as well."  
Milhir stared at the wood-elf analytically. "I think it's just you, my friend. I do not recognize what it is you describe."  
"It cannot be just I who senses it. She emanates it too powerfully for just I to feel it. Perhaps because she injured you worse than me is why it doesn't affect you. There might be a means by which she keeps it at bay." Milhir's concern grew as he listened to his friend speak.  
"You are not being rational Legolas. She's just a girl. A human girl, at that."  
"A human girl from who knows where..."  
"Legolas, just look at her!" He waved his right arm to where she and Iflaím were nearly done setting up the fire.  
"That's just it Milhir. I am looking at her. Something she emits draws me to her. It makes me...uneasy."  
"Do you know why you would feel such unrest toward a person such as she?"  
"No." There was silence between them for a moment. "Do you think I'm misjudging the situation?"  
"I'm not sure...but I do know that your instincts have never been wrong. I suggest to you though, that you stop being so uncivil toward her. Keep yourself in check around her."

Legolas eyed her with an unwavering gaze. _What could be so special about this human women to have me acting so?_ he wondered. Perhaps the answer lay in her appearance, though over time Legolas had learned that appearances could be deceiving. Her clothes were odd enough, but her true distinction was in bodily features. Her brown curly hair and brown eyes were common enough, but her skin... It was dark, not from the sun, but dark in actual complexion in a way he had never seen any race in all of Middle Earth. Not quite brown but certainly not light in the way he'd seen other people. It was strange. Not at all ugly, but strange.

She had been watching Iflaím blowing on the embers of the stack of wood, but at that moment she turned her head, steadily meeting Legolas' gaze again.

There were times when it was difficult to tell apart Mari's second nature actions from those of her first nature, but this one was most defiantly first nature. Her instinct was always first; she felt before she thought, and at that moment she felt someone watching her. Turning her head slightly she found herself, again, locked with Legolas' eyes. There was less meanness, but a new very intrusive look was in them. It was as if he was trying to see into her. She didn't like it. He was taking liberties he had no right to. On her own face, where there had been a blank stare, there was now an expression that easily  
read "Stop it".

He didn't stop though. He just kept staring at her, trying to unravel her mind through her eyes, until finally she couldn't take it any more. She turned her head away and settled herself by the fire Iflaím had finished. She could still feel him staring at the back of her head.  
_On top of being kidnapped by elves from who knows where, there has to be one who's out to get me_, she thought. _This is just my luck._  
She sensed he was still staring at her. The same impulse that had made her go over to him before was poking at her again and telling her to... To what? She didn't have the slightest idea. She didn't like it when her intuitions only came half way. To get her mind away from her current issues she allowed herself to by hypnotized by the flames. Her mind's wanderings strolled over many things while she was in her trance-like state. Every now and then she would come back to the elf with the strange blue eyes. _They were paler before. Today they're slightly darker_. _Perhaps they change with mood. Do all elf eyes do that?_ Quickly though, she veered off into other thoughts and ponderings. When she came back to a state of full consciousness the elves were now seated around the fire, talking merrily as they had the night before. Even Milhir sat with them. Perhaps elves do heal faster than men...

Mari's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumbling in her stomach.  
Alidar, from beside her asked, "Are you hungry, child?"  
"Yes," she said meekly and slightly embarrassed. Where had all her courage from confronting Legolas gone?  
Alidar handed her a flat wafer of bread from his pack. She held it between her fingers and looked at it quizzically. Does he really think this is enough to sustain me?  
"It's quite good, I assure you," he said after several moments of her not eating it.  
As not to seem rude, Mari quickly bit off a small piece off the edge of the bread to taste. To her surprise it was good. Very good. No, these were not the proper words to describe it. Only to say that it was the most incredible thing she'd ever tasted could pass for an accurate description. What surprised Mari even more than its taste was how full she felt after only one bite. She broke off a second piece, slightly bigger than the first. After the second bite she was entirely full.  
She re-wrapped the wafer and moved to hand it back to Alidar.  
He put his hand up. "Keep it. You'll need nourishment over the course of the trip."  
"Thank you, " she said as she stood up. She moved to the horses to store away the bread in her pack. It was still strapped to the back of Milhir's horse, and without unstrapping it she slid the bread into the side pocket. Moving toward the horse's head, she stroked its neck. This calmed the beast a little, who had been startled awake.

Mari turned her head and gazed at the elves. An ethereal glow surrounded them, complimenting the light of the fire in a strange sort of way. They were beautiful. It was true that Mari didn't usually think beautiful was exactly the right word to use when describing men. Perhaps handsome or dashing would normally be appropriate. But these were not men. They were elves. _Who have kidnapped me_, Mari kept having to remind herself. It was difficult to think of them as kidnappers though, because of their courtesy and generosity, but she didn't know these people or their abilities. It was terribly stressful and frightening being around beings such as they. Yet, inside her was a fight between the part of her that was feeling the fear she knew she should feel, and the complete awe of her other half. Being near them made her feel as if she could some how gain some of the grace bestowed upon them. In a strange way it made the actions of Legolas more bearable since she was jealous; it was easier to hate him. Yet even in the depths of his cruel eyes she was still saw the same beauty and, as with the others, she wanted to be near him.

Just then, all the elves stopped talking and turned their heads in the direction Elrond had been watching. One by one, they slowly stood and came to stand behind Elrond. Faint, warm smiles marked their faces. Mari staid frozen by the horses. The woods had ceased to make noise. Even the crackle of the fire had diminished. Then, in the distance Mari heard hoof beats.

In the dark, away from the fire, the glow emitted by the elves was more clearly visible. In fact, it was something more than a glow. It was sheer light; a pure, white light that hovered around their bodies, an aurora around each of them illuminating the area in which they stood. How they didn't attract every wild beast in a mile radius was a mystery to Mari. One of them was enough of a beacon to draw a pack of wolves.

The hoof beats came closer and through the trees she could see riders approaching. There were three of them. As they got closer Mari was able to make out the distinct forms of two men and a woman. Two elves and a she-elf, she corrected herself. The three slowed down their steeds to stop in front of the standing company of elves. The two elves dismounted first, getting off their horses and immediately embracing Elrond. The three of them stayed in each other's arms slightly longer than Mari had expected. These two were obviously very dear to the elven king.  
When they pulled away it was plain to see they were twins. They're frames were built strong, their hair dark and their eyes bright, excruciatingly similar to Elrond. One of them went back to the third horse where the she-elf was mounted who, Mari assumed, was Elrond's daughter, Arwen. Mari looked to the elves for any sign of who these two new travelers escorting the princess were. The only thing different in them was that their smiles had grown and their eyes were shining brighter.  
She looked back to where Elrond was embracing his daughter. If this is his daughter, she thought, Those two must be his sons. The idea of elven parenthood sat strangely in her mind. Being immortal and unaging, wasn't it odd having parents who looked no older than yourself? Well, to her it was odd.

The elf maiden pulled away from her father finally. Mari took a deep breath. She had already wasted the title of Beautiful on the elves. With that being taken, there were no known words to describe Elrond's daughter. Exquisite? Breath taking? No, none of these in the least bit appropriate.  
The sons had already started greeting and embracing the other elves and  
now the Maiden began to do the same. When they finished greeting the ones that  
they knew Elrond lead them to Mari.  
"This is Mari," he said to them. "She will be traveling with us to Gondor to meet with Aragorn. Mari, these are my sons, Elladan and Elrohir." They each responded with a bow of their head and a "milady" after their stated name. "And this," he continued, "Is my daughter, Arwen, but I assume you knew that already."  
Mari felt a wave of embarrassment as they looked at her confusedly. The presence of three more elves suddenly made her three times more nervous and intimidated than she'd been before. "Hello," she said some what sheepishly. She felt her face begin to redden when their confusion grew.  
"You understand and speak Sindarin?" exclaimed Elrohir. The rest of the elves looked at one another then laughed.

"Come my children," Elrond then said. "There is much to be told by all."


	4. Chapter 4

Was I on crack when wrote this chapter the first time? There were no less that seven-**trillion** misspellings. Much thanks to Ellen for a super-awesome review!

Chapter 4  
Much of that night was spent telling stories around the fire. At this time it was plain to see that all of these elves were closely connected, not just between Elrond and his children, much like an extended family of sorts. Their affectionate interruptions of each other's stories reminded Mari of her own family; it saddened her beyond comprehension. Her family, being of the Roma people, had no home. Thus, home came to exist in the faces of loved ones; her mother, father, brothers, sisters. Now they were gone forever. In the presence of the elves, however, this sadness quickly left her. Being with them numbed the pain, or at the very least pushed it far and to the bottom of her soul. Once again, she was captivated by everything they did. The tilt of Elrond's head, the curve of Arwen's neck, the sent of Alidar sitting next to her. Even the uncomfortable sort of way Milhir rested on his uninjured side seemed graceful.

They took turns in telling stories of what had happened to each of them since they had all last met. Milhir explained how it was he was injured. Even though he explained that it wasn't really Mari's fault, the three new elves still eyed her suspiciously when they thought she wasn't looking.  
Arwen told of how she had gone to Lothlorein to stay with her grandparents and wait for the end of the war. She spoke of her great desire to be reunited with her beloved, Aragorn. The stories that Iflaím, Elladan, and Elrohir were far more horrific than the others. They had been ensued in the fighting that had been going on. Iflaím had been part of the forces defending Mirkwood in the north, which apparently had been attacked by some spared thousands of Sauron's army. Celeborn and his Lothlorein troops had come to aid the Mirkwood elves; a gesture that ended a long standing feud between the two elf kingdoms. Near the end of the war, Sauron's northern forces had blocked all of Mirkwood's escape and transport routs. Iflaím, as a last hope, was sent on a mission to the peak of the lonely mountain to ask the assistance of the eagles in bringing him to Rviendell. The eagles got him there in six days rather than forty. There his instructions were to desperately plead (if he needed to) for reinforcements and return to Mirkwood with three hundred of Elrond's finest warriors via eagle. Upon arrival to Rviendell, however, someone called Mithrandir sent word to the eagles that if they were to grant aid in Minas Tirith the war would be ended by the sunset of the next day. Without hesitations, the eagles left Iflaím in Rviendell and headed to Gondor with great speed.

Midway throough the course of events, Elladan and Elrohir had gone with the Rangers to aid Aragorn and Legolas at Helms Deep in Rohan. After a great battle that took place there, they headed to Isengard to discover it had already been defeated by ents, such as the one Mari had seen the day before. They also found two members of the Fellowship whom had been kidnapped by Saurman. Inside the tower of Isengard they found the cowering sorcerer.

"He was great once," one of the twins said in the narration. (Mari could not yet tell them apart) "But what we found there was a destroyed fragment of what had once been the powerful Saruman."

From there they continued to Minas Tirith, where the war against the evil lord Sauron was won. As a favor to Aragorn, they agreed to go fetch their sister from Lothlorien and bring her to Gondor while Legolas went to get Elrond.

The short silences that came at certain points of the stories were particularly fascinating to Mari. They came after extremely sad or extremely joyful parts of the narrations. They were not odd or uncomfortable; it was not as though the speakers were searching for words. They seemed to fit perfectly with the events that were being told. During the silences, Mari could feel something fill her heart, were it sadness or joy, depending what events the silences followed. She assumed the elves experienced these sensations as well, though she wondered if it was quite as severe for them.

Each listened attentively when they were not the one speaking, only adding when their story overlapped chronologically with the one being told; Arwen remembered when she had seen Iflaím coming to Lothlorien to ask for aid from Celeborn's troops. At the same time that he arrived in Rviendell, Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas were in Minas Tirith, preparing for the battle of Pelennor.

In Rviendell, Iflaím and Elrond, and all other elves anxiously waited for word of the outcome of the battle. Three days later the eagles returned announcing the defeat of Sauron. They also brought word that the war had ended in Mirkwood as well. Iflaím stayed in Rviendell for the celebration that took place instantaneously with the arrival of the eagles. Within a weeks time of the departure of the eagles Legolas came for Elrond.

Neither Elrond nor Legolas, Mari had noticed, told their own stories nor added to the others'. She hadn't really expected Elrond to tell stories, but she was surprised that Legolas who, from what she understood, what in the thick of things, didn't speak a word. She also found it strange how the other elves avoided any detail about Legolas and his specific actions through out the duration of the war.  
Though he didn't contribute to the story telling, Legolas was as attentive as the others. His brooding had changed to genuine interest. For the brief hours that he listened to his friends Mari could see the cruelty leave his eyes, replaced by a youthful curiosity and also sadness when he heard Iflaím recount the Mirkwood battles. _That's his kingdom, isn't it?_ Mari tried to remember. _He is Prince to them, no?_ This was easy to forget since all the elves she was sitting with were royal, if not very high in elvish society. _If he is a decent ruler, it must have eaten him on the inside that he could not be with his people in their time of need._

The stories ended and there was again a silence. Once it passed, one of Elrond's sons spoke up.  
" It's still unclear to me why Mari is traveling with us to Minas Tirith."

All the other elves gave him a stare that seemed to imply "Why are you so incompetent?"

"What?!" he asked defensively.  
"I certainly hope you are more tactful than this when I send you on diplomatic missions," Elrond jokingly said to his son. They all laughed softly.  
"While Elladan's blunt approach wasn't exactly the best, he does have a good point," Arwen said to Mari.

_Elladan_, Mari thought. _That means the other one is Elrohir. I won't remember if they move from where they're sitting._

"We know little more than you," quipped Iflaím after Arwen's comment "As always, your father knows the whole story but won't tell us a thing." At that Elrond smirked.  
"Then perhaps you will tell us," Elrohir said in a much more judicious tone than his brother, addressing Mari. Every one turned to her. "Would you, please?"  
"Yes! Tell us your story! I've heard enough these war weary elves and that love-sick princess," said Milhir lightheartedly, throwing his head in the direction of Arwen and the twins.

Mari was unsure of what to do. She looked to Elrond and Alidar for an answer. Elrond looked pleased by the idea and Alidar looked as interested as the others to hear what she had to say. _I'd have to tell them some time._

"I should start from the beginning." With these words, signaling the start of her tale, she noticed how all the elves readjusted the position in which they were sitting so that they might be more comfortable. Mari loved story telling, more especially when she was the storyteller, and she reveled in an eager audience. She gazed into the fire; it had the power to stir her memories, reminding her of stories told when she was young and would sit to listen around a fire such as the one she was in front of now. Through the wispy flames she could see Legolas' eyes; their child-like glow not diminishing. This gave her confidence.  
She knew she wouldn't be able to tell her story exactly as it had happened. It would take too long to explain, there would be too much they wouldn't understand. That was why she waited until the end of the other stories the elves told until she told her own. Like any good storyteller, she made sure her story would have elements that her listeners could relate to; she had to listen to their stories in order to get a feel of their culture and lives. Again she spoke.

"It all began some years back when king Adolf Hitler came to power in the Kingdom of Germany, east of where my people dwelt…"

They listened, captivated by her tale. Next to her she heard Iflaím let out the quiet, heavy breath he'd been holding in until she finished. She realized that for several moments she hadn't been looking at them. Instead she'd been looking at the fire again. Glancing above the flames she saw that some of their eyes had grown wide in shock or minimal horror. Others had expressions of seriousness and who's bodies had tensed, visibly disturbed by her ordeal. Then there were the kind eyes of Arwen; she looked as though she understood the greater meaning of everything Mari had said, and even what she had not dared to say aloud. Elrond seemed to have the same expression. Lastly, there Legolas, who's expression was something Mari couldn't quite place. What was it? Sympathy? pity? _Please, anything but pity_. Never in her life had Mari detested anything more than being pitied.

She suddenly grew nervous under their gazes. "I'm very tired. I think I'll go to sleep now," she said as a means to retreat from their watchful eyes. "Excuse me and good night." With that she rose to her feet and brushed herself off. Turning, she went to Milhir's horse where her mat was.  
"There's still one thing that puzzles me," she heard the voice of Elladan say from behind her. His statement was instantly followed by the distinct :thwap: of someone's hand coming into hard contact with the back of his head. "Ai! What was that for!…Ah. Em, It can wait until the morning. Good night to you, Lady Mari!"  
"Good night," the rest chimed in.  
Mari smiled to herself and silently laughed to herself.

_That will be one way to tell them apart. Elladan doesn't know when to shut up!_

As she unrolled her mat, she also reached into her bag, removing a small jar of salve. She needed to use it for her back later that night, away from the elves. She didn't want them to see any more forms of weakness about her. She set up her mat a few yards from the camp fire. The elves continues talking in hushed tones. Mari was careful to lay on her side, so as not to inflict more damage and pain to her back. The whispering of the elves blended with the crackling of the fire, and together they lulled Mari into a peaceful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A twinge in her back Woke Mari in the middle of her night, reminding her of the salve she'd taken from her pack. She opened her eyes, but saw only Iflaím awake by the fire. The other elves lay around her, asleep on their backs. Iflaím prodded the fire with a stick. Within a few moments he threw the stick into the flames and turned to look at her. He said nothing, but smiled warmly.

"What are you doing awake?" He asked her.

She didn't want to tell him about the salve. "I need to relieve myself," she said instead.

"Oh," he said, a little surprised, "Well, the river's that way. Be careful in this dark."

"Thank you," she said, standing up from her mat. She was very discrete about wrapping her shawl around her and hiding the salve in the folds of her skirt. Just as she was about to walk out of the clearing, she saw all the sleeping elves staring straight up into the sky. She let out a soft gasp. Iflaím seemed to know what had startled her.

"Do not worry," he whispered. "It is how we elves sleep."

Quietly, she crept through the woods to the water's edge. She took off her shawl and blouse, then folded them neatly and placed them on the ground beside her. She tried the best she could to clean her back with a cloth she'd also taken from her pack. This was difficult to do, firstly because she couldn't reach her whole back, and secondly because the clasp of her bra was directly over the spot inflicting the most pain. She wasn't about to take off her bra; should she need to escape from something, she wouldn't want to go running off into the woods half naked. _Not yet any way_, she thought. She smiled to herself. Some of her fondest memories in life were of the days she spent bathing with her sisters in the Garanne River. She smiled fondly to herself as she remembered.

Suddenly, in the middle of the first happy thought she'd had in nearly a week, Mari felt a cool hand on her shoulder. In the blink of an eye she'd leapt up and away from the and and stood facing the body which it belonged to, a dagger in each of her hands. She found herself staring at the last person she had hoped to see.

"What is is you want?" she nearly screamed at him. Her sleepiness and shock some what strangled her voice.

"Shh! You'll wake the others," Legolas said.

"And you wouldn't want that, now would you," Mari retorted sarcastically. "What do you want?" she asked again, this time in a normal toneof voice, but with more force.

"Iflaím woke me to relive him of watch duty. I saw you'd left." The look he'd had before was back. No longer did curiosity and wonder linger in his eyes; they only held contempt for the creature before him. "I came to make sure you hadn't tried to escape. Now, what are you doing here?"

"I...I came to..." She didn't know if she should tell him the truth. On the one hand, she didn't want him to know her weakness. On the other hand, if she didn't say something he would think she had been trying to escape. She couldn't yet judge what he would do if she showed resistance to him. Up until now the elves had been courteous and kind, but was that only because she'd been acting so docile? This brought her to the true possibility of escape. All she need do was turn around and dive into the river. The current was certainly strong enough to carry her away quickly and in the dark they wouldn't be able to find her. This of course was extremely dangerous to attempt; for all she knew there could be a waterfall or rapids half a kilometer ahead. Then there was the fact that she would be utterly lost with no where to go. Not to mention she'd be missing her clothes. Her clothes! Her thoughts stopped when she saw his eyes traveling over her. With a quick intake of breath, she turned around to get her blouse. She grabbed it and clutched it to her chest. Legolas was quicker than she'd anticipated. As soon as she turned her back to him he came up behind her, wrapping one arm around her to hold in place across her chest. With knuckles of his other hand, he pushed hard into the small infected gash in the middle of her back. Myers mouth fell open in a silent scream she had not the energy to give sound to. Her eyes teared and her stomach convulsed in pain.

"Is this what you've been hiding?" he asked in a monotone whisper.

She gripped the knives in her hands tighter when his knuckles didn't move. She couldn't move her arms to use them. He was holding them in place in such a way that the sharp sides were facing her own neck. After a few moments, he let her go all at once. With a gasp she fell into a heap on the floor.

"Why were you hiding this," he asked. She stayed silent, still in pain, still mortified by his presence. She was in too great of a distraught state to care about the knives that had dropped from her hands. "Why were you hiding this?" he asked a second time. Again, she didn't hear him.

Mari felt destroyed. Though the wound was small, she felt as though it covered her whole back; she felt hideous in body and mind. She felt all of her imperfections magnified under the scrutiny of the beautiful elf. As with any woman, her body was sacred to her and there were things to be kept secret about it. Besides that, her family had always warned her never to let any one see the tattoo on her right shoulder blade. Thus far no one outside of her family had seen it, not even her lovers. Her skills of deception had kept it from happening, but now were her hair to move a centimeter all she had promised, all she could possibly be upheld in memory and honor of her family would be lost. She was so afraid. As afraid as she'd been when she first encountered Legolas; he was dangerous and would hurt her.

"Mari," she heard her name called gently, by who she didn't know. It didn't belong to Elrond, Alidar, Iflaím, or any of the other elves at the camp. This soft, comforting voice was new to her. Legolas knelt behind her. _I'm kneeling?_ She couldn't remember her body falling.

He placed his hands on her shoulders as to keep her from moving away. "Mari," said the voice again. It was then she realized the voice belonged to Legolas. He was speaking softly into her ear. "Why were you hiding this?" he asked a third time, only now in the new voice. She heard him this time but still could not find her own voice. All the emotions inside of her burst from inside of her and she began to weep. Still no sound came from her, but tears streamed down her face and her body shook. She was then thrown into a second state of shock by the next thing the elf behind her did.

Legolas lowered his head, resting his forehead against the crown of her own head. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Her tears lessened after she felt a strange jolt of energy flow through her. Eventually, her crying subsided, but he didn't move. Mari's own breathing fell in sync with his and her eyes shut as his had. When she felt entirely calm, he moved to take up the jar of salve.

**LGLGLGLGLGLG**

Legolas' mind had not left the War of the Ring. After what he had been through it would always be with him. Though the battling had ended more than a week ago he was still constantly at battle with himself, torn between his two selves; one self of good and one of darkness. Both exist in every living being. Normally one is dominant over the other. Inside Legolas however, after a course of events that sickened him to remember, both good and evil held equal possession of his heart. Each half of him would grab hold of him for a time and then he would be possessed by the other half of himself. The only thing that remained ever constant was the extreme sorrow that filled his whole being. He acted on impulse now (be it impulsively good or evil). These switches in personality came suddenly. When it happened his emotions would be directed at anyone in his path. Anyone except those those who had been members of the fellowship. And elves. Only in their company could he be sure the good side of him would hold sway.

Mari had been unfortunate enough to have his darker nature directed at her more than once. Her presence seemed to trigger the evil impulses with in him even when he was in the presence of other elves; around her he sensed something he couldn't place, which confused him, and fear followed the confusion, and malice was acted out of fear. Thus, his malice became directed at her. There were two moments, however, when his confusion was followed by curiosity rather than fear. Those his moments of impulsive goodness. The first time had been when she had told her story and the second was now, just after he'd hurt her. In both instances he could see and feel her pain and misery surging through her. It was possible, he believed, that she too could be gripped by the same mind blowing sadness that gripped him, and because of that he felt sympathy for her and was thus overcome by the impulse to help her, be it simply by respectfully listening to her story or attempting to healing her wounds as he was now doing. He was not even deterred in his mission to help her now by the jolt he felt when he touched her. This was the best reasoning he could find in his madness.

Though it was dark, in the moon light he could see with his keen eyes that the cut was not very deep. It had gotten infected, though. He hoped the infection wasn't too terrible that it couldn't wait until morning when Lord Elrond, a true healer of skill, could completely heal it. If Legolas did the best that he could do there was a good chance it wouldn't scar, unlike his own some what fresh wound. It wasn't known that elves could scar but he had, ever reminding him of his ordeal. Again, he tried not to think about it by instead focusing his concentration on Mari. He began to apply the salve but she flinched, and with a small cry she made as if to move away. He held her still with the one hand he'd left on her shoulder.

"I won't hurt you again," he said to her softly, trying to calm her.

"How can I be sure?" she asked.

"You need to trust me."

She stayed silent then. He doubted that she actually would trust him now, but at least she was letting him work. Suddenly something happened that he did not expect and that had never happened before. As he smoothed out the slave over her skin his finger tips began to glow. Where ever his hand went, a golden trail of light was left on her skin. She did not appear to notice because she kept still with her eyes closed. Legolas' eyes grew wider as he saw the honey colored trails fade away, taking with it any traces of the cut that had been there. He was filled with the most wonder he had ever experienced in nearly all of his life. This was a skill possessed only by healing elves; a skill he had never been trained in. Very few elves could heal in such an instinctual way as he just had and those who could usually could do it from the beginning of their life. Never had an elf suddenly gained the ability to heal. Though he didn't know how he was doing it, he didn't stop. He continued tracing the red lines on her back, coating them in the golden glow until they faded away.

When he was through she again made a quick move to get away but he held her back again.

"Wait for the salve to dry before getting dressed," he said to her. "I can help it to dry faster."

She settled down again. He waited to see if she would try to get up again before he began to blow a steady stream of cool air over the spots on her back where he'd spread the salve. As he continued he felt her begin to shiver. Was she cold? Was she afraid? Was she going to start crying again? Fortunately for Legolas, all of the salve dried without her acting up.

"Go straight back to camp and get some sleep," he said once he'd finished.

Before the sentence had fully left his mouth her clothes were back on and she was sprinting back to the camp. Legolas stayed on his knees staring at his hands in disbelief. They were still glowing and had only now begun to dim to his normal elvish glow. Nothing grew clearer to him as he kept turning his hands over, looking at his palms then at the back of his hands. All he knew was that he felt more empty now than he had felt more empty now that the healing process was over and Mari was gone. Rather, he did not feel empty at all but instead he felt even sadder than before. Tears began to fall onto his hands on which his gaze was transfixed.

He brought his hand to his face, wiping the tears, and then looking at them in slightly less disbelief than he'd felt earlier. With glistening eyes, he changed his gaze to the nearly half moon. The great sadness he felt was now accompanied by a great longing. A longing for...Well, he didn't know.

"After nearly seven hundred years of life you still don't know anything," he said to himself.

**LGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari sped back to the camp as fast as her legs could carry her, this task being made thrice as hard by the darkness, the stones and roots that randomly jutted into the path, and the fact that she didn't want to wake any of the other elves. When she returned she found them all still asleep, eyes wide and staring heavenward. The flame of the fire had shrunk substantially since she'd left. Though it was summer, it was still rather cold, and as she lay on her fleece (her back to the path so that she wouldn't have to look at Legolas when he returned) she curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her shawl around her body as tightly as she could. It helped a little in the absence of the fire.

There was no way she would ever be able to fall asleep. Her body was certainly tired enough to do so, but the combination of the cold and what had just happened kept her mind awake. _What just happened?_ she asked herself. As bizarre as the whole incident was, she still managed to learn from it. She now knew that she could fully trust the other elves to help her since Legolas had been worried she would wake them and he would be discovered, but also she learned that it didn't really matter to him because in the end he attacked her anyhow. There was also the act of his healing to consider. He had done an excellent job at it, too. She could feel no pain in her back.

In her head the events that had just happened played over and over and over along with the emotions she had felt through out; fear, terror, pain, sadness, emptiness, and then the calm, warmth, the sensation of being completely surrounded, filled, and safe. She divided the time spent with him into two parts, the first being filled with his cruelty and the second filled with his kindness. During each part it seemed as if she were with an entirely different elf; as though Legolas had two completely different persons living inside of him. All those thought were beginning to give Mari a headache. It all contradicted itself. He contradicted himself. She could make sense of nothing.

She didn't hear him come, however she did feel his return. There was a new air about him that made his presence strange to her. She wasn't quite sure if she liked the sudden change. Up until a few minutes ago she had been very terrified of him, but at least she knew and had a feel for who he was. Now she had to start over, reevaluating his tactics and calculating his actions. She could tell he'd added some fuel to the fire because she grew warmer.

His kindness didn't make her trust him any more than before. If anything, she thought it to be a ploy and entirely false. In that case he was an exquisite actor. Still, she reasoned, she'd humor him and pretend to believe his act, but only to study him further.

The warmth of the fire was now lulling her to sleep. The last thought she formed was the wonderment of something that had completely escaped her mind: when would they arrive in Gondor?


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry this took so long. Indeed, I'm a poop. Merry Christmas.

Chapter 6

Mari woke to the sound of a gentle voice calling her name and a soft nudging to her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Legolas, but was not afraid. The memories of safety, comfort, calm, and warmth were the memories freshest in her mind.

"It's time to go," he said in the same monotone voice he'd spoken in the night before. He walked away without saying anything else. She watched him walk out beyond the clearing to where she assumed the horses had been taken because she could no longer see where they were. The wind blew around him didn't disturb his clothes or hair. He seemed a ghost trapped in a living body.

She rolled up her mat, put the salve in her pocket, wrapped her shawl around her waist again, and went in the direction Legolas had gone. There, the others were mounting up. She noticed Milhir was mounting his own horse instead of riding with Iflaim.

"Mari!" he called to her.

"You're well enough to ride on your own?" she asked once she was by his side.

"Certainly! I'm sorry you won't be having this fine steed all to yourself now that I'm well," he said. "I missed you dear Stiro, old boy." Affectionately he patted the horse's side. "I'd be most honored if you rode with me, though," he said, addressing Mari again. "Would you?"

"Of course," she answered, and strapped her pack to the horse's side. Just as she was about to mount up behind Milhir, Iflaim raced up beside them, reached down, and snatched her up, placing her comfortably in front of him, all the while laughing. She gave a small shriek of surprise when the force of his arm first hit her, but began laughing too when she realized what he'd done.

"I've found a far better riding partner now that you've healed," he called to Milhir over his shoulder.

"Very clever of you, Iflaim!" Milhir called back to him. Iflaim didn't stop. He began to ride away from the rest of the elves, toward the road. A littler farther up he slowed his horse to a stop.

"We should wait for the others here," he said once he'd stopped laughing.

Mari's lungs heaved for air, recovering from the fit of laughing. She suddenly felt very guilty for laughing. She felt as though she hadn't the right to. She should have been mourning for her family. This was no time to be laughing and happy. She grew quiet and her body went stiff. Iflaim sensed it.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I...I'm just remembering my family."

Iflaim's eyes became soft and sympathetic. "I too lost my family. My father and brother, in a war long ago," he said to her in a lamenting tone.

"They died?" She turned her head to face him better.

"Yes."

Swallowing hard, she worked up the nerve to ask her next question.

"Do you still feel a hurt inside your heart?"

It took a moment for him to answer. "It hurts, still, but time has helped lessen the pain. I had to keep on living. You mustn't be afraid to live your life, Mari." He touched her chin, turing her head slightly to face him. "They wouldn't want you to be like this."

Mari was able to smile slightly. His eyes became a bit brighter at this. "You're right," she said. "Thank you."

"I will always do for you what I can."

"If you don't mind me asking, how long ago was it?"

"Some thousands of years ago." Mari's eyes widened. Iflaim laughed again. "Yes, I am quite old."

He turned his head. She followed his gaze and saw the other elves finally coming toward them.

"It's about time!" Iflaim called out to them.

"Be quiet, you thieving elf!" Milhir cried jokingly. "She was to ride with me!"

"Oh, what's the difference?" asked Iflaim when they approached. He was growing frustrated by Milhirs obvious aggravation.

"I was hoping Milhir would be able to explain to Mari about Gondor," said Elrond, speaking for the first time that morning.

"And why couldn't I?" Iflaim sounded almost insulted.

"No offense friend," quipped Elrohir, "But you tend to go off on tangents very easily."

"Yes, I was actually quite surprised by how you were able to stick to your story last night," continued Elladan.

"By the time we get to Gondor, she'll have learned the best places to find strawberries in Mirkwood, the name of your pet rabbit from childhood and the finer points of arrow making, but won't even know what Minas Tirith is," finished Milhir. At this, the three who had been antagonizing Iflaim laughed. Iflaims lips sealed together and stuck his jaw out. He was looking quite perturbed by their teasing.

"Are you three done?" he asked.

"Quite," Milhir managed to say between laughs.

Mari felt she had to remedy the situation.

"I'm sure I'd learn plenty about Gondor from you," she reassured Iflaim.

"There! You see! She believes in me!" A playful, cocky grin was plastered across his face.

"Just the same, to be safe, I think that I too should tell her a bit about the country."

"Alright," began Iflaim. "A short history of Gondor, as told by Master Iflaim of Mirkwood."

Mari giggled to herself in a girlish way. If he was acting like a little child, she might as well too.

"Let's see. Where to begin?"

"Gondor is a kingdom of Men in the South," interjected Milhir.

"Excuse me!" exclaimed Iflaim. " I believe I was telling 'A short history of Gondor' to our young charge!"

"And a fine job you were doing," said Elladan. "Go on, Iflaim."

"Thank you!" replied Iflaim, slightly irritated. "Now where was I before I was so RUDELY interrupted?"

"Gondor is a kingdom of Men in the South," repeated Milhir.

"Ah yes! The language they speak is 'Common Tongue', though there are a few different dialects. I suppose we shall have to teach you a bit of that as well, won't we?"

"I thought you were telling her everything yourself," Elladan said. Iflaim sighed in frustration. "Everyone is allowed to help me explain!" he nearly shouted in defeat. Aladar, Elrond, Arawen, and Legolas all turned their heads from up front. The five in the back all smiled and waved as a sign showing there was no problem. They turned back around; Mari was sure she'd seen Aladar roll his eyes, and was that a smile she saw on Legolas' face...? Her attention quickly came back to Iflaim when she remembered he was telling her something important.

"The recently crowned King Ellesar rules the Kingdom of Gondor. We all know him as Aragorn. He is the one Arwen meets to marry."

Elrohir continued. "Aragorn was brought by his mother to Imladris, (also known as Rivendell), my home, when he was just a boy to be kept safe from those who believed Gondor needed no king and wished to kill him. Our father, Lord Elrond, raised him as a son, as our brother.

"How then is it," asked Mari, "If he was raised as a brother that he and Arwen came to fall in love?" She was a bit disturbed by that whole concept.

"Arawen spent a part of her life living in Lothlorien with our grandparents. She and Aragorn met for the first time once he had grown into a man and fell in love. She understood now.

"And that is why when we realized you spoke Sindarian, we thought Aragorn might know of you. Having been raised by elves, he speaks Sindarian and Quenia fluently. In fact, he is one of the few Men who does."

"And now that you know I've never met Aregorn?"

"Well, it would be heartless of us to leave you here," said Elladan. "Do not be fooled by its beauty, Mari. This land can be treacherous to those who don't know it."

Mari found it particularly arrogant of him to say it would be "heartless" for them to leave her where they'd found her, but she didn't say anything. She'd had no say in where they were going or the fact that she was going at all. Still, she thought it best to hear what they had to say if she indeed had no choice in going to Gondor. Even though everyone was pleasant, she still saw the whole thing as a kidnapping, no matter how cleverly disguised in politeness, and her primary objective was to get away. She had no idea where she would go once she escaped and perhaps listening to the information they were giving her could be of use. She'd then be able to make a break once in Gondor.

"Also," continued Elledan, "Minas Tirith is the largest center of human living. Once there it may be easier to determine where it is you would like to go." He gave her a knowing glance that no one else seemed to see.

_Ah_, she thought, s_o he's figured me out_.

"There is also someone very wise you should like to meet there."

They all looked up to see that Legolas had fallen back a bit to be included in their conversation. They all were surprised, to say the least, but did not question him.

"Who is it?" Mari asked.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Legolas was shocked she responded to him. He stared at her, forgetting for a moment she'd asked him a question, before he answered her.

"We call him Mithrandir. He is an Istari. Others know him as a wizard. He possessed great power; power exceeded possibly only by his wisdom."

"How is it you know him?" Another question? Since when did she become so curious? Wasn't she terrified of him anymore?

"He was a part of the Fellowship, as was I."

There was an uncomfortable silence between all of them. He could plainly see Mari had no idea what this discomfort was for. She searched each of them for a possible answer but everyone was cleverly avoiding eye contact with her. So, with nowhere left to turn to, she came to Legolas. His gaze did not waver. He didn't wish to hide from her the despair she willingly went searching for in the depths of pain that were his eyes. Surely she would shy away once she caught even a glimpse of the horror.

But she did not. She looked him dead in the eye. _This woman is bold_, he thought. _And determined, and brave. Why hasn't she blinked yet?_

"Oh," she finally said, breaking the silence. The time between what Legolas had said and what had just transpired seemed like hours but had only lasted a few moments.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari cut off the connection. She now knew.

One of her greatest abilities had always been her ability to discern people. Before, she had been to scared to notice anything, but nearly all was clear to her now. The mentioning of the Fellowship had triggered it all. Something had happened to Legolas as a part of the Fellowship or the war. She didn't know what, but at least now she was one step closer to knowing this enemy.

_Enemy?_ She questioned the title. Was he really her enemy? Well, he's certainly no allay.

"Yes," continued Iflaim. "Mithrandir will be able to answer all questions you may have.

"So you know him as well?" she asked.

"I have met him on a few occasions. You will like him when you meet him. I promise."

At that moment, they reached the road. Along the sides it was lined with massive, white stone blocks that came to the knees of the riders. On each stone was the large carved symbol of a tree.

"This is the road to Gondor," she heard Milhir say.

They spent most of the day on the road, stopping once at mid day for a short meal.

The party stopped rather early in the day in comparison to the day before. "Why do we rest? asked Mari. "There are some good hours left of daylight.

"This is true," said Milhir, "But it is best we all be well rested before arriving in Gondor. This, and we are not expected to arrive until tomorrow. It would be rude to arrive a day early; they would not be prepare to receive us. Also," he paused looking in another direction, "There are certain rites to be performed."

Mari followed his line of site to Arwen and Elrond. She remembered that the beautiful elf maid was getting married when they arrived at Gondor. Perhaps these "rites" had something to do with that. At that moment Arwen turned toward her. It was a little startling. she gave Mari a friendly smile. Mari finally blinked, breaking the spell of Arwen's beauty. She dismounted and unfastened her pack from Milhir's horse.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mari had only just finished unfastening her pack from Milhir's steed when she heard Arewen call to her.

"Come Mari! I should think you'd like to bathe."

Mari spun around to face her. "Would I!" There was some soft laughter at her eager response. She didn't care; after so many days of not bathing, she felt filthy.

Carrying a small box, Arewen went off in a direction toward the river. Mari followed, not bothering to put down her pack.

When they reached the river, Mari could see that this was a commonly known rest spot. There was a part of the river that had been damned up by large stones that created an area free from the current, deep enough to swim in or (even better) bathe in.

She dropped her bag to the ground with a sigh of relief. First she took off her boots and stockings. Next came her skirt. She was careful to remove the knife holsters at the same time so that Arewen wouldn't see them. Mari then took off her blouse and threw it unceremoniously into the pile with her skirt stocking and boots. Normally she would have taken the time to neatly fold these items, but she was too excited about getting clean to care.

Just as she was about to remove her bra, she saw Arewen looking at her quizzically.

"What is it?"

"What are you wearing?" exclaimed Arewen.

"Huh?"

"Those things covering you." She was pointing to Mari's bra.

"These? Oh! They're my...um...langure...What's the word you have for them...? Undergarments?"

"But they're so beautiful!" She was referring to the fact that it was of a lavender, silk fabric. "Why would such cloth be worn under your clothes?" Mari began to laugh very hard at this. "Forgive me, " continued Arewen, a bit annoyed, "But I'm afraid I don't understand what is so funny."

Mari got her laughter under control once she remembered she was with a princess. "I'm sorry!" she blurted out between breaths. "It makes sense that they would seem strange to you, I guess. They're just so normal where I come from."

"Do all women wear similar garments in your home?" asked Arewen from in the water. Mari took note of how quickly she had gotten undressed and had begun bathing.

"Well, they're not all the same, they vary, like all other types of clothing, but they all have a similar look to them."

"And they're always worn beneath your clothes?"

"Yes," she replied, trying to hold in more laughs. That idea was particularly amusing to her. She couldn't even picture what wearing a bra over a blouse would look like, or for that matter, what people would think of such a thing!

"It just seems silly to me that such fine cloth would be used for an item no one would see."

"Well some people see it."

It was only now that Mari noticed Arewen had set the small box she'd brought with her atop one of the large rocks that formed the dam. Inside it were different soaps and oils for her hair. "Who else would see?" she asked, handing Mari a once whole bar of scented soap.

"You saw it."

"Yes, but what does it matter that I see it in a situation such as this? You weren't planning on showing it off to me, were you?" she joked.

"True; but if I were to do my laundry and hang them up to dry, any one who passes by might admire them." Arewen gave her a sideways glance, knowing she was trying to by silly now. "And sometimes pretty under clothes make you feel pretty!"

"I highly doubt that!"

"It's true!"

The two women were laughing loudly together now. Arewen sighed deeply as her laughter subsided. She began to lather soap in her hands.

"And besides," continued Mari, slowly, "The men I'm with like the way they look."

"Men?" Asked Arewen, stopping mid way through washing her arm.

"Yes."

"As in more than one?"

"Not at once. Is that a problem for you?" She was testing the waters with Arewen. She needed to know what type of a society she'd fallen into and what sort of things were permissible and tolerated.

"Not necessarily," she replied, choosing her words carefully, "But I should warn you, not everyone in this world is as accepting as I am. The roles of women must be very different in your world, but here, a women who takes many lovers in this world would be called a whore. I don't know you well enough to say that you are or you aren't."

The woman and the she-elf regarded each other silently for a moment.

"The roles of women are very similar to here is my best guess," replied Mari.

"Then why is it you are so... open, in regard to your...lovers?"

"I do not hide what or who I am," she said solemnly. "I do not flaunt it, but I do not hide it."

"That is respectable," said Arewen, sincerely.

There was another brief pause.

"I won't tell a soul if it is what you wish."

"It is."

"Then I won't. I advise you to be careful who it is you share that information with."

A new, comfortable silence settled between the two.

After completely cleaning herself, Mari hoisted herself on top of one of the large rocks that closed in the little swimming hole. She sat there, staring out to the other side of the river, bathing in the sun, until Arewen interrupted the silence.

"Would you like to use my comb?" she asked.

"Oh yes!" replied Mari, eagerly accepting the wooden comb Arewen had took out of her box.

Mari sat, contently combing her hair, trying to think of a way to make polite conversation since she had been so generally courteous.

"It's strange they let you out here alone," she began. "I mean, you being a princess and all, I'm surprised you don't have someone keeping watch over you or something."

"I'm not a free as you are lead to think," she said, smiling. "One of them is in that tree over there, keeping guard. We're right in his sight."

"What?!" squeaked Mari, attempting to cover her body. She was about to dive back into the water up to her neck before Arewen stopped her.

"No! No!," she said, laughing. "They're all well mannered enough to not look."

Mari calmed. She trusted Arewen in this matter. She resumed combing her hair and warming her body in the sun.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Legolas was ill at ease after what he'd told Mari about being with the fellowship and their task. For most of the rest of the day he didn't speak. He desperately wanted to get away from his companions for he felt he would turn into his worse self at any moment which was strange since it was they who usually kept him in his normal condition. His hopes were that once they stopped for the day he would be able to go off for a while by himself to collect fire wood or something. He found his escape when Arewen and Mari went to the river to bathe. Before any of the others had a chance to, he volunteered to keep watch over hem.

He headed off in the direction they had gone then took to the trees as he neared the river. Once he reached the trees closest to the shore he settled himself on a nicely curved limb. He placed his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. To another he might have appeared relaxed, but indeed he was not. More than anything he wanted to hang his bow and quiver on one of the branches and completely let his guard down but, bound to his duty, he could not allow himself to. Though nothing was likely to happen within the boarders of Gondor, he was still obligated to protect Arewen and Mari (simply because she was in the company of Arewen). In his state, he could hear their chatter but did not listen, not only because it would have been rude, but also he didn't much care for the idle conversation of women.

He stared up at the canopy of green. He could see blue sky. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. No, it did not smell like home. He had fooled himself that it might, for resting like this was something he used to do in the woods of his home at the end of the day.

Legolas missed Mirkwood, his home. He missed the smells, the sounds, and the Lonely Mountain to the north. He missed the leaves that were beginning to fall when he first left, the snow that fell while he was on the Caradas, and the flowers that would be blooming in a week's time. Most of all he missed his stubborn, passionate father and his solemn, loving brother. There were no words in Elvish, common speech, or Dwarfish that could express the longing he had for his homeland.

There was one thing, however, that he wanted more than to return home. He wanted to see the world.

Before he journeyed to Rivendell he had never stepped foot outside of Mirkwood. He realized now that he had led a very sheltered life in his father's kingdom. True, he had become an excellent warrior (one of the best in the entire Greenwood) and he did have to endure the royal ceremonies of his father's and the yearly festivals, but he was spared the usual duties of royal offspring. He was allowed to get away with such things, he assumed, because he wasn't the heir to the throne as his older brother (who had not be spared such duties) was. Instead of sitting in on his father's meetings, Legolas had been racing with friends in the woods; instead of attending tutoring sessions in diplomacy, Legolas had been swimming in Lake .

_Speaking of swimming, these women are taking too long_. He turned his head to check on them. _Just as I thought_. They had, in fact, finished bathing and were sitting on some rocks talking as if they had all the time in the world. _Well Arewen does have all the time..._ His mind stopped when he suddenly remembered that Arewen had given up her immortality to wed Aregorn. It pained him that the Evenstar would one day have to grow old and die.

Arewen was one of his oldest and dearest friends. He and she had been the last elven children born on Middle Earth. She was six hundred years his senior, so for six hundred years people had thought she was the last born, until, that is, the beautiful wife of Thranduil, Queen of Mirkwood, gave birth to her second son. When they were young, their parents and others had joked, saying that the two of them would marry one day. Both Legolas and Arewen found it terribly funny. Firstly because they were too young to know what love really was and second because it got them so much attention. Once they were old enough to know what love was and found out that their parents hadn't been joking, they realized, to the disappointment of half the Elvin population on Middle Earth, that they weren't in love and never could be. They had grown up together and loved each other as brother and sister. It took their parents several years to accept this fact, but they didn't push the matter. Now Arewen was marrying the love of her life and would be a mortal as the naked woman sitting beside her.

At this moment Legolas realized just how much of a Peeping Tom he was being. He gave it a half a second of guilty thought before he continued staring at the two women; his generally curious nature had won. Well, not really the two of them. He'd seen Arewen without her clothes on more than one occasion. (Those occasions were in no way as perverse as one might be lead to think. Mostly they were the childish antics of Elledan, Elrohir, and him stealing her and her hand maidens' clothes while they were swimming.) Instead, he focused his attention on Mari.

As he had decided before, she had a strange look to her. It appeared her entire body really was a darkened color, not just colored by the sun. She was more..._voluptuous_ than the average woman and far more than any elf-maid. Her bosom was ample; her hips were wider, giving her body noticeable curves. She was generally small compared; nearly two heads shorter than him. Despite her height and strangeness, were he not so unsettled by her mere presence, he might have considered her beautiful.

Her skin was soft. He remembered this from last night. His head began to hurt at the memory. His hand also began to tingle at the moment he remembered, in the same way it had when the mysterious healing power coursed through it. What had happened? How had he done it? Her back was to him now and he could see that the scars and bruised were definitely gone.

An overwhelming power had claimed him when he touched her and it made him feel as though he was part of the living world again rather than a ghost floating through it. It gave him a chill of excitement and fright to think of it. He knew not what the source of this power was but believed that she must or that at least by touching her again he might find the answer.

His eyes had gone out of focus and he no longer stared at her. Some movement caught his eye though, and his thoughts came back to the present. What he had seen was Mari an Arewen walking along the rooks to the shallow end then to the shore. He continued watching Mari as she dressed. It seemed senseless to him that such clean, beautiful skin should have to be covered in filthy clothes. _Should have to be clothed. Period._ he thought.

He was no longer entranced by his thoughts but by the way her limbs moved as she put different articles of clothing. As she dressed and more of her skin was covered he became more entranced by the bits left exposed. First she put on a set of very strange undergarments, followed by her skirt, the blouse, then stockings and shoes. She made the whole process of putting clothes on more mesmerizing than taking them off, which was something he couldn't quite understand but wanted to learn more about.

After they walked away, he dropped down from the tree to the ground and undressed to take his own bath. Soon the rest of his male companions would join him and his peaceful solitude would be over.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari walked with Arewen back to the camp. When they arrived all the elves went to the river for their turn to bathe. They had already lit a fire, so the two women sat beside it and continued to talk as they had in the river.

"A woman like you must think me foolish to marry," began Arewen.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you take pride in not having one man to whom you are bound. Surely you must not favor marriage."

"Actually, no! I think its a wonderful idea if it is what you want. I simply have never found the right man."

"But you have..._bedded_ men, no?"

"Yes, but I could not see myself spending my entire life with any of them." Arewen looked at her, urging her to continue. "You see, I am a Gypsy, and the life of a Gypsy is a particular one. We live outside certain constraints of society. Were I to marry a non-Gypsie, he would expect me to give up my wandering life for a settled one with him. I am not willing to do this any time soon. I am willing to love only one man so long as he is able to love the one me there is. I am what I am and can't change that."

Arewen stayed thoughtfully silent. "I understand completely," she eventually said in the stillness, "for that is exactly the type of man I am to wed tomorrow!"

Mari smiled, remembering that Arewen was going to marry the king of Gondor. "You seem very happy about your marriage to him. I can tell you're in love with this man."

"Can you?" she asked with a smirk. "How?"

"A person in love is easy to recognize."

"But you said you have never been in love."

"I never said that." A smile of sweet memory crossed Mari's face. "But I have seen the case of my sister and her husband. They are truly in love with each other and have been for years. When they are close to one another it is obvious but when they are are apart there were certain ways to tell. Like the way their eyes light up when the other is mentioned, the smiles and far off looks they get on their faces and how when you asked them what it is they were thinking of they would respond, 'My beloved husband,' or 'My beautiful wife'. You clearly had the same look on your face, the same gaze in your eyes; I bet if I were to ask you what you were thinking of you no doubt would have said, "Aragorn, the man I am to marry."

Arewen's smile grew a little bigger, here eyes turned down and were she not an elf she would have blushed at the way Mari had been able to read her so easily. "Is it really so easy to tell?"

"For me, yes."

"Are all your people so talented?"

"No. I just have what we call a 'knack' for such things."

"Then you, Mari of the Roma, are truly gifted.

Mari smiled shyly. No one had ever complimented her intuitions before.

"Come. Help me to prepare dinner," said Arewen in a way that was more inviting than commanding. "I doubt they've done anything."

"No lembas bread?"

"No.Tonight we celebrate! As much as we can, at least."

In one of the saddle bags that had been slung over a low tree branch they took out cured meats and a spit which they assembled over the fire. They ate once the meat had finished cooking. As she ate, Mari wondered why it was they weren't eating the lembas as they had the night before. Just as this thought crossed her mind, the elves came back, cleaner and in brighter spirits than before (which she hadn't thought possible). With them came Legolas who, she realized, hadn't left with them. That seemed rather odd to her. Then it hit her. _He was the one keeping watch_.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mari and Arwen munched on some lembas until the sun had set and the elves had returned from their bath. They returned cleaner and brighter; a feat which she had not thought possible, being that they already shone bright in the dim woods. All looked flawless, all except Elrohir. He had a strangely dingy look to him; his clothes were a bit wrinkled and a stray twig or two could be found in his hair. The ladies looked at him confusedly.

"These heathens thought it funny to hide my clothes," he said morbidly.

All the rest burst into hysterics, save for Legolas, who simply smiled cheerfully. For the moment he was smiling Mari thought him to be like the other elves after all. But he turned and saw her, locking eyes wither her, thus his smile faded and deminshed to a surly, ice cold glare. It gave Mari a chill down her spine and made her down cast her eyes. She felt fear and shame for reasons she didn't know.

Mari looked up from her lembas at the elves gathered 'round the fire and noticed that everyone had grown silent. She looked at all of them and saw that they were all smiling and staring intently at the only other female in their presence. She looked at Arwen and found her grinning girlishly.

"You are to be married on the morrow, dear sister..." said Elledan in a jokingly menacing manner.

"And we've brought you gifts!" finished Elrohir.

"Yes! Finally! I couldn't wait any longer!" cried out Iflaim.

"You just can't wait any longer to embarrass me!" retorted Arwen.

"What do you mean?" asked Mari, who was thoroughly confused by what they all were talking about.

"Its a tradition among our people," explained Milhir. "The night before a woman's wedding, those who love and care for her offer gifts to her in honor of the occasion."

"The gifts are of a special kind," continued Ellrohir. "They must be of the most original and unique of sort as is possible. The more unique, the greater value it is to the bride to be."

"Unique or useful," corrected Alidar. "If the gift will be of great value in her marriage it is also greatly valued by the bride."

"Yes, and by the end I will be too overcome with tears to care for their beauty or use," added Arwen, jokingly.

"Be that as it may, its still a tradition, and who are we to go against the powers that be?" chided Iflaim, playfully. "I'll go first!"

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. It was small and sit easily in the palm of his hand. It looked like a metal discus with a small needle in its center

"This arrow here," he said pointing to the needle, (which, upon closer inspection, really did look like an arrow), "It always points to Rivendel. That way, you will always know where your first home was and where there are those who love you."

Mari could see the princess was already getting a little choked up. _And this is only the first gift_, she thought.

Next came Milhir's gift. He unfolded from his lap a richly embroidered banner made of a white, iridescent fabric with a silver tree on it. All around was embroidery threads of gold and silver.

"I've brought you a banner bearing the crest of Gondor. Tomorrow you will ride into Minas Tirith holding it high as our procession reaches Aregorn.

With great care, Arwen took the banner and folded it in her lap, placing the compass softly on top of it. Still, she could not bring herself to speak. It was now Legolas' turn.

"I'm afraid my gift isn't nearly as grand as those you've just received," he said. From behind him he pulled into view a rectangular object wrapped in fabric. He unraveled the bundle, reveling a book. "Between the pages are pressed leaves and blossoms from each of the elven kingdoms."

They passed the book around the circle to Arwen. Mari watched as she opened to one of the pages that had been marked by a ribbon. Out of the book she pulled a long leaf by its stem. The fair gypsy could have confused it for something made of gold had she not been close enough to see the veins of the leaf.

A smile of joy and relief came to Legolas' face when he saw Arwen's eyes grow wide in appreciation.

"My gift is also a book," said Alidar after a moment of silence. The book he presented her with was large. It conveyed a sense of age, much like everything else about the elves. Like Legolas' gift, it was passed around the circle to Arwen. "It is a history of our people to date. The last page is a listing of your lineage. The spaces at the bottom are blank. They are meant for you to fill in in the future."

Arwen took both books in her arms and (despite their combined weight and cumbersome size) clutched them to her heart.

Next in the line of gift giving were the twins. From a small vevetine pouch the first brother pulled a beautiful, shimmering pendant. The second brother took out a similar pouch from which he pulled a glimmering chain that looked to be made of braided silver.

"We know you gave your pendant of the Evenstar to Aragorn," said the first, whom Mari now recognized by the sound of his voice as Elladan.

"So, " continued Elrohir, "We decided you needed a new one. We each made out part of the gift."

As Elrohir spoke, Elladan took the chain from him and strung the pendant on it. He got up and moved behind his sister. "We hope you like it," he said, clasping it around her neck.

At this point, silent tears of joy that she had been trying to hold in streamed down the princess' face. The only elf left to give his gift was the father of the bride: Elrond.

In his lap, there had been sitting a simple, square wooden box. He opened it, revealing a circlet of silver. He lifted it out of the box (which Mari could now see was lined in a rich, red velvet) and came to stand in front of his daughter.

"If you are to be queen," he said to her, "You must have a popper crown." As he spoke these words, he lowered the circlet on her head. It sat right around her forehead. Now that she wore it, it was easier to see the exquisite craftsmanship put into its creation. It too was crafted from silver; it looked as though three bands of silver had been interwoven and forged into one piece. Running around it were thin chains that lay upon her hair, framing her ears and face.

Arwen scanned the group in front of her. A single and final tear ran down her face. "Thank you, all," she said to them, each word slow and separated from the others, as if it had been chosen after much deliberation. "I know not what else to say."

"Then say nothing," offered Elladan, with the type of warmth only a brother could give. Mari stared at him and for a second could have sworn she saw Eric's own eyes.

"I wish I had a gift to give," she said, not quite knowing where the words had come from.

"Your presence at my wedding tomorrow will be gift enough," assured Arwen.

"Still, I just wish there were something..." Mari's voice trailed off as an idea came to her mind. "Oh! I know!" she exclaimed. "I have the perfect gift!"

"You do?" asked Elrohir. "But what have you to spare of the items you carry?" He barely finished the sentence before being jabbed in the ribs and silence by his brother.

"Well," she began, "It isn't in my bag. Nor is it very useful, but I doubt you've ever seen anything like it." She noticed a slight change in posture of those sitting around the fire, indicating their growing curiosity. "It's a talent I have." She stood up and shrugged off the shawl she was wearing and wrapped it around her waist. "I'll need you all to move back a bit. Move the logs, too."

"What are you going to do?" asked Iflaim, eager to see her talent.

"I'm going to dance for you all."

"Dance, you say?" teased Milhir as he stood up to move back with the others. "But the festivities aren't until tomorrow."

"It's a specific way of dancing that all the Roma know," she explained. "Strangers seem to find it to be entertaining and I've been told I'm rather good at it. I'll need you all to help, though."

"How?" asked Arwen.

"There's a certain way you must clap your hands." Mari clapped the rythim with her hands and soon the elves caught on. Even Legolas seemed to show a small bit of enthusiasm. Elrohir and Iflaim were the first to be able to clap the rithim properly. Legolas joined them. To the rest she gave a different rythem. She then started to clap her own singular rythem in addition to theirs. Then, without warning, she broke into dance.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

The elves were amazed by her strange and exotic movements if not alarmed. She twirled and leapt into the air, kicking up her legs. With a flick of her wrist, her skirts flew in arcs around her legs and hips, giving the fabric the appearance of a blossoming flower at some times, raging ocean waves at other moments.

The provocative sway of her hips was what some of the elves found so alarming. Even the movements of her hands seemed some times; the rolling of her wrists looked as though she were stroking the cheek or hair of an invisible partner, at the same time beckoning those gathered around to join her in her dance. As she kicked and dragged her feet across the ground, she sent soil flying into the fire. It caused the flames to crackle, spit and reach higher toward the sky. Looking at her between the licking flames, Legolas thought her to be a flame as well.

As she spun and her skirts flared out, he was sure her clothes would catch on fire, yet some how they didn't. While he waited for this to happen and see who would be the first to jump froward and smother her clothes, he became increasingly entranced by her movements. There were moments where he was able to catch her glances and within her eyes were flames. He couldn't decide if they were reflections of the fire she was dancing around or if the flames came from within her, threatening to consume her body were it not released.

Legolas could have sworn (if he didn't lack trust in his instincts as of late) that all her steps, jumps and twirls were intended for him. He blushed, embarrassed by his own egoism for thinking he could hold her attention in such a fashion. _Her dance is a wedding present for Arwen_, he reminded himself.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari had lost a true grasp for the world around her and the ground beneath her feet. This often happened when she danced; she loved it and it consumed her totally. Only one thing anchored her to reality: the steady gaze of the elf she so feared.

As eerily as always, Legolas had been staring at her, unblinking. Those frightening eyes were a deeper shade of colbolt blue.

Sometimes when Mari danced she was able to separate her mind from her spirit. Her spirit stayed with her body and carried her feet so she could dance while her mind was elsewhere. In fact, when her mind wasn't so close to the rest of her, she was able to see things more clearly, more easily discern fact from what her passions caused her to see. Right now, she saw herself dancing around the fire, and since her mind had left her body and been separated from her reason, she was dancing with a bit more gusto than perhaps she knew she should. She knew that she was showing more of her legs to these male elves than they needed to see and she knew the glances she gave them were suggestive, but with reason abandoned, how could she help herself? She was a natural performer with a captive audience.

From outside herself she also saw the elves in a way she hadn't thus far. She saw now that she had nothing to fear of them. Emanating from them were their good intentions. Legolas included. Well, not so much that his intentions were good, but they certainly weren't bad. At least, not as bad as she had originally thought.

Okay, so she still couldn't read him or his intentions; she had simply grown more comfortable with his presence. Though she could not discern exactly what he was thinking, she could sense something deep within him, something very dark that he was trying to repress with all of his heart. She saw an ugliness inside him and was alarmed by its existence. She had been afraid of him before, but never did she think that such a horrible thing could be found in such a beautiful creature. And indeed, he was beautiful. Mari noticed now, for the first time, in her limbo state of conciousness, just how magnificent he was. True, all the elves were lovely to look at, but he stood apart from the others, as if tainted. Perhaps this would explain the darkness inside him, for it existed side-by-side with the boundless inner grace he possessed. It also could have been a royal air about him; she could see the slight ways in which Iflaim, Milhir and Alidar differed from Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Legolas, though Legolas seemed a more natural combination between the two compositions. _Again with these dualities..._ she thought.

One thing about him that was singular and uncompromising was his physical beauty. He had a lithe, warrior build, like the other elves. His hands were strong. This she knew well from the two times he'd restrained her. Their strength was surprising.

He stood slightly shorter than Elrond, Alidar, and the twins, but so did Iflaim, so she figured it must be a trait of those from Mirkwood . As must have also been the golden hair on his head; very simply braided, in contrast to the others. His eyes, she had come to realize, changed their tint with his emotion; ice blue when he was angry. She was later to discover they became like the sky when he was happy, like the sea when he was sad, and dark like steel at other moments like now. The other features of his face were sharp; his brow and cheeks were chiseled in definition. His jaw was similar in character when it was set in a scowl, as it often had been, but Mari noticed that now when he was at ease so was the line of his chin. Now his chiseled cheeks were tinted rose. _Heated by the fire_, she supposed. _What could cause an elf prince to blush?_

She took note of his garb as well. Though they each wore varying autumnal shades, the royal members had clothes that were clearly of richer fabric and detail, except for Legolas. If anything, his clothes were in the poorest condition of them all, that is, if one could really call any type of elvin cloth poor. It looked somehow like he hadn't had a new set of clothes in a long time.

As she thought all these things, she watched herself dance. She came to realize that she was actually dancing for Legolas. True, someone who wasn't familiar with the steps of her dance wouldn't have been able to tell, but she could and it unnerved her.

_What is it about him? I am drawn to him even though I know he is dark. Perhaps it is his darkness that draws me to him, like that evil ring they told me about. If that's true, if this condition is the same, then I won't be rid of him until he is rid of it. I will do it. It's clear to see the others haven't thought to try._

And she was right. In the rapid sequence of events of the war, victory, the crowning of Aragorn and his marriage to Arwen, Legolas' condition was all but forgotten by those closest to him since it didn't affect him while they were near. Indeed, Mari was the only person who had thought to take it upon herself to end his suffering and strangeness. By the time her mind began to return to her body (the music in her head was gone and she could feel herself inside of her skin), she had convinced herself that she was the only one who could save him in spite of the fact that she didn't know how she was going begin to go about doing it.

She spun in a final circle, her skirt billowing around her. Landing on one knee, the other leg pointing straight forward, she ended the dance, her forehead touching her knee and her hands folded over her foot. At the end, she was kneeling before Arwen.

All the elves stared at her in wonder, not only because of the strange and impressive way in which she danced, but also for the abrupt way in which it ended. It was as though her whole body had suddenly grown tired, her spirit plucked from her body, and she fell. At first they thought she actually had collapsed out of exhaustion. The moment they realized she was in an elaborate pose, they broke into applause.

Mari looked up at Arwen, surprised to hear the applause.

"That was amazing!" exclaimed the princess with all the excitement of a school girl. "Where did you learn to dance that way?"

"Most of my people dance in this way," she explained, rising to her feet. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I loved it! You must dance for the guests at my wedding. Would you?"

"I…"

"Oh please! You must."

Mari looked into Arwen's eager eyes and knew she could not deny the happy bride.

"It would be an honor to dance for your guests, Lady Arwen."

Arwen clasped Mari's hands in joy. "Oh, thank you," she said. "Tomorrow will be all the more wonderful because of your presence, dear friend!"

_Dear friend?_ Mari wondered. _What is that supposed to mean? I've only known her a few days._

"Speaking of tomorrow, it will be a long day," said Alidar. "Mari, you'd best get some rest. I doubt there will be time to rest over the course of the next few days."

Mari blinked a few times in surprise. In spite of the fact that they had been talking about Arwen's wedding for the past few hours, she had forgotten that they would be reaching Minas Tirith the following day.

"Yes," was all she said in response to Alidar's statement. After giving a quick goodnight to the group, she mutely went about laying out her sleeping mat. Though she was silent, her mind was racing.

_Minas Tirith. The White City. Aragorn. I will be meeting Aragorn. I will be meeting my fate. Arwen will turn him in my favor, I'm sure of it. Or she might not. Either way, it doesn't matter. I'll find supplies as slip off as soon as I can. I'll escape. Who cares if I don't know I'm going. When have I ever known? I'll figure it out when I get there. But where do I fit in this world? What will I do? The same thing I did before: survive. I'll perform, make crafts and tonics. I'll build my own caravan. A van for one…_

Mari's thoughts were interrupted when she caught a glimpse of Legolas' profile. As usual, he looked very concerned about something. It was then that she observed his elven ears for the first time. They were the one supremely physical difference between men and elves. She might have argued that unadulterated beauty was their second most distinguishing feature, but she had yet to meet the men of this world and it was quite possible that they were equally stunning. As for elf ears though, they were quite lovely. Legolas' ear was perfectly lit by the fire light, so she could see it clearly. It peaked out between strands of his golden hair, starting at a connected lobe and curving into a small, perfect point. This image was the last one she saw that day. Just he turned his head and looked at her, she fell into a deep slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry this took FOREVER, but it's here. Enjoy and go frolic.

Chapter 9

"Mari, you must wake," said the soft voice of Arewen, gently waking the gypsy woman from her sleep. Never had she so sweetly been taken from her dreams. "Wake up," she persisted. "It is my wedding day!"

She opened her eyes and beheld quite a sight. The princess was dressed in a gossamer gown of sea foam green. Such a color was in stark contrast to the autumnal colors the other elves wore and that she had been wearing until now.

Groggily, she sat up. Instantly, Arewen thrust a yellow bundle into her arms. "What is this?"

"A dress for you to wear!" Arewen was truly giddy now.

"Where did it come from?" She unwrapped it and saw that the length would fit her well enough. "I'm far too short to fit into your clothes."

"My grandmother has the gift of foresight. She suggested that I bring a dress of mine from when I was younger. Now I see why. Go change." With that, Arewen pulled Mari to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the river.

Mari dressed as quickly as speed would lend itself and rushed back to camp. All of the elves were still packing for the last stretch of the journey; all except Legolas. He was already packed and mounted on his steed. Both rider and horse seemed to be filled with nervous excitement and looked ready to bolt toward Minas Tirith. He spotted her staring at him and walked his horse to where she stood. Although she had made up her mind to not be scared of him, Mari was still filled with an eerie feeling as he got closer and closer.

"Lady Mari," he addressed her with a slight tilt of his head but delivered his question more with his eyes than his whole face. "Are you eager to reach Minas Tirith?"

_Of course! The sooner we get there, the sooner I can be free of this haunting band of travelers_. "Yes…" she said, cautiously.

As soon as she replied, he promptly scooped her up (much as Iflaim had done the day before) as sped away from the camp site, onto the road and toward the city.

"Legolas, bring me back!" she shouted to him once she'd caught her breath.

"Why? You said you were eager to get to Minas Tirith."

"Yes, but the others…"

"...Will catch up to us."

"Why have you not waited for them?"

"I was sent ahead to announce their arrival."

"Then why are you bringing me?"

"I have some questions to ask you."

"And if I refuse to answer?"

In a singular motion, he brought the horse to a stop and pulled a knife from his back. He placed the cold steel against her neck, softly.

"Then I'll slice you and say you were slain by a beast." He whispered, moving the sharp side of the blade across her skin, though not breaking it. "There would be no one to say otherwise." Silence was her reply and sign of compliance. Sheathing his knife, he started his horse back into a fast gallop for a few more minutes than slowed to a trot. "To begin, why didn't you tell the others that it was I who had hit you?"

"May I ask a question for each of yours?"

He was amused by her request. "You may, but I may choose not to answer."

"Hey! If you don't have to answer then why should I…?" her protest was cut short by the cool steel against her neck once again. "Ah. Right. Could you repeat your question?"

"Why didn't you tell the others it was I who bruised your face?'

"I…" She hesitated. Not knowing what to say.

"I'll know if you're lying, so I suggest you not."

What was she to do? She had always been taught to never let your enemy know you were afraid of them, but what could be done in this situation?

"Answer me, Mari."

"I was afraid."

"Of me."

"Of you."

There was a pause before he responded.

"That was not my intent."

In spite of her fear, his hypocrisy threw her into a rage.

"Was not your intent? Was not your intent! What do you mean, it was not your intent? How do you feel when you threaten me, ambush me in the dark, give me evil glares, put a blade to my neck? Look at you in admiration? Feel comfort? You've acted strange and cruel to me when others haven't, though strange is a word I will use rather liberally seeing as everything is strange to me since I've been BROUGHT TO ANOTHER WORLD! Yes, Legolas, I was afraid of you, of what will happen once the king passes judgment on me once we reach Minas Tirith, of what I left behind to never see again, of what is to come…!"

By now she had started crying. _God! Why have I allowed myself to come undone!_ It was as if the flood gates of her tears had been opened. Break down was inevitable. It just happened to be her terrible luck that Legolas had decided to bring alone, ahead of the group.

At some point, she heard him sheath his knife. "Stop your weeping," he told her, coldly. "It cannot help you. No matter how much you scream or wail, nothing is going to change. Besides, you'll spook my horse."

"Would it kill you to act a bit more civil toward me?"

"We elves are immortal. There are few things that can kill me," he responded. She wasn't sure if he'd caught the sarcasm in her question.

She ended her crying in a heavy pant of frustration. In front of her she noticed his hand was shaking as he gripped the reigns. It suddenly stopped when he gripped harder, turning his knuckles white. His hand relaxed after a few seconds.

"Legolas," she started, carefully, "Something is wrong with you."

"You overstep your boundaries, Mari," he responded between his teeth.

"There's something none of you are telling me. The others know; I see the way they look at you, speak to you, take you aside from the group."

He took a deep, calming breath. "There are things you cannot understand."

"Can't understand, or won't be told?"

He raised his voice this time. "I tell you again: you overstep your boundaries."

With that, he kicked his horse into a fast gallop. They made a sharp turn off the road.

"Why have we left the road?" she asked loudly, above the sound of the wind rushing in her ears.

"You may only ask a question if I ask one first, remember?"

"Have you a question?"

A moment passed.

"How did you get such an injury on your back?"

Again, this put her in a strange position. _I can't just say that I fell from the sky..._

"Well?"

"I fell."

"You fell."

"Yes."

"From where?"

"Up high." She heard his knife sliding from its sheath. Would he be able to hold the blade still against her neck at this speed? "I fell from a tree! I climbed a tree to see where I was. On the way down, I lost my footing.

The knife slid back into its sheath and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. _Thank goodness. He didn't know I was lying._

"You should stop acting that way," he said. "You know when you're doing it. It causes me to be the opposite of 'civil', as you say."

They rode for some ten more minutes before she spoke again.

"Why did we leave the road?" she asked, not wanting her submission to him to have been in vain.

"We will reach Minas Tirith sooner this way."

"If that is true, why is the road simply not built here?"

"Because the path is twisting and full of peril." Mari stiffened at this. "You need not fear, as you are with me. You now owe me one question." As these words ended, he slowed his horse to a stop. Legolas dismounted then pulled Mari to the ground. He shoved her in the direction of a stream, a small tributary of the Anduin. "Your face is tear stained. Wash it. We would not want the rangers to see you in such a state."

_He's damn calculating_, she thought. Any trust she had in him quickly diminished and she became aware she was in a strange place with a strange man.

After she washed her face, they rode hard for another several minutes before he brought them to a stop again.

"Why are we stopped?" she asked. He did not respond.

Suddenly, she found that they were surrounded by a dozen men, cloaked in camouflaging garb. They all had bows and arrows pointed at the two mounted. Mari gasped in fear, reflexively pressing her body back against Legolas. She reached down, moving to grab the knives beneath her skirt, but before she could do anything further, Legolas stilled her hands with his own, clutching them and pressing them into her thighs.

"State your name and business in Gondor," barked one of the cloaked men."I am Legolas of the woodland realm, friend to the beloved Aragorn. I bring news of the king's bride-to-be."

His calm amazed her. She did not think it was wise to not have her own weapons at hand when these attackers had theirs. Although Legolas seemed to know what he was doing, the men did not back down or lower their weapons.

"Lord Legolas!" called a man from somewhere in the rear of the group of armed men. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. "Men, lower your weapons. Have you no eyes? Can you not see we are in the presence of the greatest warrior of the fairest beings upon all the face of Middle Earth? More importantly, he is one of the great heroes of the third age. Before you sits one of the Nine of the Fellowship of the Ring."

All the men lowered their weapons and stood in awe of the elf before them. Many of them bowed their heads in respects with a quick murmur of "My Lord." The man who had been speaking stepped forward and stood to the side of Legolas' horse. He pulled back his hood to reveal a dark, weathered and handsome face. He looked up at Mari, his eyes twinkling; she nearly blushed.

"Your words flatter me, Lord Faromir," responded Legolas to the handsome man.

"Javin," Faromir called out. A smaller, younger man rushed to hie side.

"Yes my Lord?"

"Bring word to Minas Tirth that Lord Legolas has returned and that behind him comes the king's betrothed."

"Yes, my Lord." The man sped away beyond some tall bushes.

Throughout all of this, all Mari could think was, _What are they saying?_ She couldn't understand a word of the strange language they spoke. _Perhaps this is the Western Tongue the elves have been referring to._

She knew this location was not Minas Tirith, so it could not be their final destination. Of what she could gather from the tone and expressions of the handsome man, he and Legolas were friends. She also saw that the man had power over the others since they had lowered their weapons at his words. This eased her nerves a bit, but she was still very confused.

"Legolas," she asked softly, "What are they saying? That language they speak, is it the Western Tongue Iflaim mentioned?"

A passive, "Shh," was his only verbal response. Physically, however, he gripped her wrist painfully hard as an incentive to be quiet. She did her best not to flinch from the pain.

"How rude of me!" exclaimed Faromir. "Allow me to introduce myself, my lady. I am Faromir, Steward of Gondor."

Mari continued glancing around the surrounding area as if she hadn't heard him.

"Forgive her," intermediated Legolas. "She does note speak Western Tongue. Mari..." Once he had her attention he softly demanded in Sindarian, "Greet him as Iflaim taught you."

"Hell-oh." The word fell from her mouth rather clumsily.

"Welcome to Gondor, my Lady," he responded in sloppy Sindarian, though she was able to understand him.

"You speak as the elves do!" Mari exclaimed.

"I'm sure there's many an elf who'd be offended by that statement. I only try," joked Faromir in modesty.

"You succede well enough. At least I can understand you!"

Faromir laughed at this.

The three of them were approached by another young man who had brought a horse with him. Faromir mounted the horse.

"Come friends," he said, switching back to Western Tongue. "We ride for Minas Tirith!"

Without another word, Legolas and Faromir ripped their stallions to a full speed gallop down a straight, wide path. Soon the path came to the end of the forest.

Ahead of them, Mari saw the river. As the river continued, it ran through a mountain of rubble that looked as if it had once been a city. The closer they came to the rubble, the clearer it became it was that this city had endured recent and severe destruction. Soon they were riding through the city's ruins. Soldiers were spread throughout the place, seemingly working. Mari could not see how any attempt at fixing the damage would prove fruitful.

As they rode, Faromir shouted, "Lord Legolas returns! In his tow comes Lord Aragorn's future wife. The men would stop and stare as they passed, though it happened quickly. They then dropped their work all together and ran after them.

They suddenly stopped so quickly that it made Mari lurch back, slamming into Legolas and nearly sliding off the horse. Legolas caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back to him.

"Is this it?" she asked, looking across the river in front of them.

"No," responded Legolas. He said no more and Mari didn't push for any more information.

She felt very ill at ease, for it seemed as if an entire battalion of soldiers had joined them since they first entered the city. They all looked curious and wildly excited, shouting what sounded like questions at them. Faromir did his best to calm them and answer their pleas.

After a minute or so of waiting, a small boat came to them.

"The bridges were destroyed," explained Faromir. "Until they are rebuilt, we depend on these ferries." The boarded, staying mounted on their horses.

"Those soldiers," asked Mari, "What were they asking?"

"They were merely confused," he said with a bit of laughter. "They thought that you were the Lady Arewen. When I told them that you were not, they thought you were wife to Legolas." At this, he peeked a glance at her. He found the look of disgust on her face only topped by the even more outraged face of Legolas'. He laughed aloud. "I of course explained that you were not, but I think that may have confused them further."

The ferry touched the shore; they had reached the other side of the river. Almost instantly, they took off at their former blinding speed. There were more soldiers on this side of the city who also tried to follow the riders, but could not keep up. Faromir shouted the same words as before so that the citizens might prepare themselves for their future queen's arrival.

Beyond the tops of ruined buildings, Mari could see a mountain that was not too far ahead of them. As they came closer to the city she noticed that there were houses and other structures built into the mountain. Finally, they left the city and road toward the mountain. It was then that she realized that only part of the mountain was actual mountain; the rest was a city. Her mouth fell open at the spectacular sight and she gasped.

At her quick intake of breath, Legolas' arm went around her again.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good. I thought you might faint." In spite of his words, he didn't sound the least bit concerned.

"Faint?"

"Yes, my lady," Faromir said. "It has been known to happen to those who lay eyes on Minas Tirith for the first time."

"Minas Tirith." She whispered the name.

As they approached the giant archway at the entrance of the city, horns began to blow, sounding their arrival. Two giant doors opened; the gates to the city.

"These gates are only temporary," Faromir called out to her again. "The true ones were destroyed in the siege. They were far more impressive."

Before she really had a chance to turn this information over in her head, they crossed the threshold of the gates, astounded guards in their wake. There were many who seemed astounded by them. Though they were racing by, on the faces Mari could distinguish she saw many of the same expressions as she had seen on the soldiers. Unlike the soldiers, they only stopped to gaze for a moment before going before quickly heading in the direction they were headed. There were many people doing this, she noted. The population of the city was far greater than she expected. She had heard stories of the crowds in Paris. Could there be as many people here? The city itself was also much larger than it looked from afar. It was divided into levels, an archway (where she assumed a gate used to be) stood at the entrance of each level. The higher they rose, the more she wondered what was at the top. She got her answer sooner than she expected.

They reached the top most level, finally slowing to an easy gallop then a trot. The space was flat and open and its white stone, polished to perfection, shone in the sun light. This level was entirely in contrast to the rest of the city.

"It's magnificent up here," she remarked, still in awe of her surroundings.

"Yes," agreed Faromir. "It is the one place to have remained untouched by battle."

She barely took notice of when they stopped, for she was still amazed by this new and beautiful place. It was in sharp contrast to the beauty she had seen thus far in Middle Earth; forests, Ents and Elves were of a different source of brilliance. The world of humans was a marvel to her. In obvious ways they were so much like her and yet so otherworldly themselves. _Quite literally otherworldly_, she thought.

Mari snapped out of her reverie when she heard someone call out to Legolas in Sindarian. She turned her head to see a ruggedly handsome man (more so even than Faromir) coming toward them.

"Master elf," he said, "I thought I charged you with bringing my wife, not to find one of your own."


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry this took so long. I've been out of the country and... well... it's a long story.

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

"Be calm, Aragorn," Legolas drawled, sounding rather bored. "She comes as we speak." Dismounting he added, "And _this_ is no wife of mine."

_Aragorn?!_ This was the king? Where was his scepter of power? No majestic robes? Hell, where was his crown? _This?_ Why had he reffered to her as a thing?

Before she knew it, Legolas had slid off the horse. He put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn did the same and the two regarded each other for a moment. To Mari, it looked like a familiar greeting the two had shared before. Both the man and the elf had warm, knowing smiles on their faces. _So, they are friends, too? How does this unplesant elf have so many friends?_ she wondered.

Remembering Mari, he turned away from Legolas and gave a small gentlemanly bow to her. "Forgive me, my lady. I am Aragorn. Welcome to the White City."

Again, Mari didn't understand a word being spoken. Aragorn gave her a strange look when she didn't respond.

"She doesn't speak the Western Tongue," explained Legolas, the somber expression returning to his face. Aragorn looked even more confused.

"Try Sindarian," offered Faromir with a smirk.

Aragorn tried again. "My lady?"

_What am I supposed to say to a king?_ she fumbled for the words to say.

"I… It is an honor to meet you, your Majesty." She added a bow of her head for good measure.

Aragorn smiled. "The honor is mine. But, I am not yet king."

This confused Mari. Why had they all been telling her he was the king?

"His coronation is today," Faromir explained.

Now she was even more confused. "Arwen told me the wedding was today," she said.

"It is," responded Aragorn, a trace of exhaustion in his voice. "Both the coronation and wedding are today."

"And you are a nervous wreck," said Legolas putting a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, a comforting smile coming back to his face.

"I'm fine. Right now I'd like to learn who this lovely lady is."

"This is Mari," said Legolas in a detached manner. "Arwen has invited her as a personal guest."

Aragorn stared at her with inertest. "You must have made quite an impression on my betrothed."

"It is she who has made the impression on me. She is quite wonderful and will make a splendid queen," said Mari, sincerely.

Legolas moved to help her down. He offered her his hand; he did not pull her as he did before. She accepted it, though she wondered why he was not as rough with her as he'd been in the past. When Faromir also dismounted, a soldier came and led both horses away.

"Tell me," Aragorn continued, "How did you come to meet Legolas and the others?"

Where was she to begin? "Well, um…I was, uh…"

Before she could continue, Legolas interrupted. "Her story is of little importance." He put a hand on Aragorn's back and began leading him away.

_Of little importance?!_

"Right now, you must prepare. Arwen will be arriving soon."

"You're right my friend," said Aragorn. "Faromir, please make sure lady Mari is in good company until the ceremonies are over.

Faromir smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

Aragorn and Legolas began to walk away. Since they had switched to Western Tongue in the middle of their conversation, Mari had no idea what they had been saying again. She began to follow them. Legolas stopped her.

"Faromir is going to escort you for some time. You're to stay with him."

This shocked her and her face showed as much. A shocked expression also fell upon Aragorn's face as well; shocked by the manner in which Legolas had addressed her-- as though she were a child or a pet that was a nuisance.

"You're leaving me here with _him_?" she hissed at Legolas. She was surprised by the amount of anxiety she felt. _Shouldn't I feel relieved to get away from this maniac?_ she asked herself. Mostly, she just felt like an unwanted rag doll being passed from person to person once they grew tired of her.

"Yes. You shouldn't be worried. He is an honorable man," he responded, growing more frustrated and continuing to walk away.

"But I don't know him." Her voice was now nearly a whisper; her eyes were cast down in defeat.

She then felt someone gently take hold of her chin, bringing her gaze up. The face she saw was that of Legolas.

"I will come back," he said. There was something very haunting about the way he had said it. There was no real comfort in the delivery of his words, but there was an infinity in his eyes that was not usually visible. She could tell he was telling the truth. He stayed holding her gaze for a moment longer before he left to catch up with Aragorn. She watched as the man and elf walked up a set of stairs and disappeared through the large doors leading into the main building of the top level of the city.

"I hope the prospect of spending time with me isn't _so_ upsetting."

"Huh?" Mari had almost forgotten that Faromir was still standing beside her. "Oh. No. I don't mind your company. I'm not sure why I was upset just then."

"Good. I'm sure I shall enjoy your company as well. Shall we?"

He led Mari through the same door Legolas and Aragorn had gone through. Beyond the doors, she saw for the first time what was the Great Hall atop the White City. Within, there was much commotion. Men and women were rushing back and forth, carrying food, drink, chairs, leafy garlands with white flowers and a number of other things she could barely begin to guess the use of. Apparently, Aragorn and Legolas had moved on to another room, for they were nowhere in sight. As she looked around, she noticed that at the other end of the hall, in the center, was a giant marble pedestal that stood at least fifteen meters high. There were stairs leading to it's top where a tall throne made of steel, stone and wood sat. At the bottom of the pedestal, to the right of its stairs, was another throne of similar style but fewer majestic qualities. Above the more prominent throne at the top of the pedestal was a large wrought iron chandelier shaped as what could only be interpreted as a crown. This, she assumed was the throne room of this palace.

"Faromir! Faromir," Mari heard a feminine voice call.

Towards them came a beautiful woman with long golden hair that was tied back, revealing a bright and graceful face. Her sleeves were rolled up and she looked flushed, perhaps as though she had been helping with the preparations going on in the palace.

"Eowyn! Has any progress been made?"

"Everyone is so excited; they can hardly get any work done! I believe everything will be ready in time, though. Who is this?"

Mari would have responded to this, had she understood any of it. Instead, Faromir answered for her.

"She came with Legolas. She is a guest of Arwen's. I've been appointed by Aragorn to see to her needs until the ceremony begins.

"Her needs? And how could you satisfy the needs of any woman?" she jested.

"My lady, you wound me, but to answer your question, she only speaks Sindarian and I am one of the only semi-fluent speakers available."

Though Mari had no idea what it was they were saying to one another, she could tell it was lovers' banter. The small smiles and subtle gestures said it all to her. She guessed that these two would be the next to marry after Arewen and Aragorn.

"Mari, this is a friend of mine, Lady Eowyn. Lady Eowyn, may I present Mari."

Again, Mari stammered the words she had been taught.

"Hell-oh."

Though there was little the blond haired woman knew to say in Sindarian, they communicated easily enough through gestures and the few words she did know. She was kind and patient enough to deal with the language bariar between them, which was really enough to form the foundations of any relationship. As Faromir had business to attend to, Mari spent her time being toured around the palace by her.

The palace was quite extensive. From what she was able to understand, Eowyn was somewhat new to Minas Tirith herself. That considered, Mari was surprised by how much of the palace she was familiar with. Perhaps, given a year, Mari thought that she might be able to find her way around without a guide.

At the end of their tour, Eowyn took her to a modest sized room. After some inventive use of sign language, Mari understood that it was to be her room during her stay in Gondor. This pleased her greatly. Through the window she could see the a court yard in one of the lower levels of the city. Though, for a place where she guessed there would be a great deal of daily activity, the court yard was remarkably empty. In fact, she noticed, the entire city was empty, though she could hear the sound of a crowd coming from somewhere.

Just as she was pondering this, trumpets sounded loudly from outside. Again, she could not tell where the sound was coming from or why they were being sounded. Eowyn, however, seemed to know their exact meaning. She gave a shout that startled Mari, then grabbed her by the sleeve, yanking her out the door and down the many corridors. As they sped through the halls, Mari tried her hardest to remember her way back to her room. She wasn't sure if she would ever find it again.

She realized that they were ascending through the castle. Halls and doors began to resemble those from the beginning of the tour and before she knew it, Eowyn had brought them back to the throne room. Rows of benches and tables had been assembled along the length of it. The white floral garlands that she had seen before hung upon every wall, their delicate scent filling the hall and soothing her mind. The throne room, too, was completely devoid of people. The crowd she had heard, though, was very near.

"Come," Eowyn called to her, the most perfectly pronounced Sindarian word she had said thus far. She was beckoning Mari to follow her out a side door at the opposite end of the hall, to the right of the main doors. "Come," she repeated franticly.

Hiking up her skirt, Mari ran to catch up to the other woman. Her intention was to run through the doorway, but when her vision reached the space just beyond the door, she slid to a stop. There was the crowd. Truly, the whole city must have been crammed onto that stone court yard. They were cheering wildly. She wanted to turn around and go back inside. Having spent most of her life avoiding the general polulous, large crowds like this made her uneasy. Eowyn, however, grabbed her by the sleeve again and pulled her outside.

In the middle of the crowd, there was a straight path cleared. It was lined with guards and other important looking people and stretched from the doors of the palace to the gates leading to the lower levels of the city. Eowyn pulled her to a spot near the cleared path.

"We meet again, Mari," she heard a familiar voice speak softly. Looking up from smoothing out her dress, she saw the kind face of Faromir. She smiled at him.

"I am glad to see a familiar face," she said to him, with the most sencere gratitude. "And to hear a language I understand!"

"Yes, I imagine that to be a great relief. I trust Eowyn was hospitible toward you."

"Oh, yes. Very much so."

"That's only because you're new. Trust me, once you get to know her..."

"I can't understand much, but something tells me you're talking about me," Eowyn chimed in.

"We've been caught!" joked Faromir.

Mari laughed briefly before collecting herself. "What are all these people doing here?" she asked. "Is the wedding starting?"

"Almost." He pointed toward the stair leading to the entrance of the Great Hall. "First Aragorn must be crowned."

Just then, trumpets once again sounded from all around. The giant doors leading to the throne room opened and out came Aragorn, dressed in beautiful, shining armor. A tall, old man followed behind Aragorn. Mari did not know what it was, but there was something about this old man that caught her attention. It might have been that he was dressed competely in white, but there was something more that grabbed hold of her senses. She decided to find out who he was and seek him out later. Her intuition was telling her he could help her.

Once the doors had shut, the trumpets stopped and the crowd silenced. Aragorn kneeled on the steps, facing toward the doors, in front of the old man. A guard came up to the old man and held open and elaborately decorated box to him. The man in white reached in and pulled out a large silver crown, decorated with plates of silver that resembled the long and wide feathers of a seagull. With great care, the man lowered the crown onto Aragorn's head. He spoke.

"Now come 'The Days of the King.'" He smiled warmly at the man kneeling before him. "May they be blessed," he added, quietly.

A wind came from seemingly out of nowhere, sweeping over the crowd, blanketing everyone in flower pettles from the white tree that stood before the stairs, the same tree as was on Arwen's banner. King Aragorn rose and climbed the last few steps of the stair. When he turned, the crowd errupted into shouts of joy.

_I guess that must have made him king_, Mari thought.

When the crowd died down again, Aragorn addressed his people. "This day does not belong to one man," he began, "But to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace."

This time the aplause was deafening. Silence came more suddenly, though. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

And then he sang. Aragorn's voice in song was something unreal to her ears; it was not human and yet something so extrememly human about it touched her very soul. Mari was captivated. It was a strange dialect of the ancient tongue. She was able to roughly interpret the words as meaning: "Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come/. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world."

There was no applause after his song. All seemed to be basking in the solemnity of the occasion.

She watched as Aragorn walked down a path lined by armored men and those who appeared to be nobles of Gondor. She, Eowyn and Faromir were indeed in these lines. This all made her feel even more out of place than she already was.

Upon his approach, she was able to get a closer look at him. He seemed different than when she'd met him earlier; before he'd been quite approachable, now she felt slightly intimidated by him. He was every bit a king in spendor with his armor and robes. The way in which he carried himself added to his royal stature, much in the way Elrond was distinct from the other elves, (though not nearly as deeply). Yet, as he passed, an air of calm spread through her. There was an elven grace in him; this much she could tell.

At the end of the path, Legolas met him. Mari noticed the silver circlet around the elf's head. _Probably signifying his royalty_, she supposed. Indeed, like Aragorn, he looked a good deal more royal than he had before. He had removed his weathered traveling cloak, displaying a long silver tunic that shone as brightly as the circlet on his head. He and Aragorn greeted each other in a manner that had earlier, as if in some sort of ceremony, each solidly grasping the other's left shoulder with his right hand. She now thought that it seemed a rather formal gestures considering the two appeared to share.

Aragorn's back was to her, but she could see Legolas's face. He gave the king a knowing look just before gesturing behind himself with a nod of his head. Behind him stood the rest of the prcession of elves; Iflaim, Milhir and the rest. Beyond them Mari saw the banner that Milhir had given Arwen the night before, the one with the Tree of Gondor. Slowly, it moved aside, revealing the elven princess behind it. Shyly, she bowed her head and curtsied to Aragorn.

_Who is this woman?!_ Mari wondered. This was not the proud, royal elf-maid she had come to know over the past few days. She had spoken about Aragorn with such passion and adoration. Where had that passion gone? Now she seemed almost afraid to look him in the eye, much like many of his subjects. She changed, though, when he lifted her chin to look at him.In an instant, her eyes brightened. There was little time to see this since Aragorn pulled her into a searing kiss. Sounds of amusement circled quietly through the crowed and got much louder when their king lifted his future bride and twirled her in the air.

When he settled her back on the ground, she saw something else catch his attention. Together, he and Arwen continued into the crowd. Leaning forward, she could see the king had stopped in front of four children. She squinted to see more clearly, and upon this closer observation, she saw that they were indeed not children, but four small men. She had once known a dwarfed man named Fillipe who had travelled with her family about six years ago. He was a musician and a bit of a magician, as many travelling folk are. He had left their caravan when they reached a town that was being visited by a circus and joined those performers since he knew he'd be able to get some steady pay. He was different though, with a large head for his smallish limbs and torso. These four, however, were quite averagely proportioned, except for the fact they were small. As she wondered what was so special about them, something remarkable happened.

The four small men began to bow, when suddenly, Aragorn stopped them. She could not hear what he had said, it was a mumble as far as her ears could tell from where she was, but it appeared to shock the four men. The newly crowned king then bent down, he instead kneeling to them. Without hesitation, Arwen and Legolas followed his example, gently falling on both their knees befor the four men. Then rapidly, like a wave, everyone knelt before them. When the wave reached her, she felt Eowyn give a slight tug on her sleeve, indicating she too should kneel, in case she didn't already have a strong hint.

After a bit of time, Aragorn rose as did everyone around. What followed was perhaps the fastest wedding Mari had ever seen. The same man who had crowned Aragorn presided over the marriage. It was quite simple; he laid his hands on each of their heads, blessing them, then Elrond bound Arwen and Aragorn's hands together with a thin leather strip. They kissed again, this time officially as husband and wife, sending the crowd into an uproar once again. Trumpets blew, signalling that the large doors of the throne room be opened, allowing as many people as could manage to pour into the palace.

At this point, the level of noise was so great, Mari became slightly disoriented. While the trumpets still sounded, a new set of instruments had begun to play inside, (a band that would play well into the night). People were chanting loudly in rythem, a cheer, Mari guessed, in celebration of the event. The rumbling sound of barrels filled with drink being rolled into the hall was met with even louder cheers. All this sound was echoing around the stone interior of the palace, sending it all rushing back at the crowd, fueling their excitement.

In the rush to enter the palace, Mari had been seperated from Eowyn and Faromir. Where had they gone? Where were the elves? She couldn't understand anything anyone was saying. The noise and size of the crowd was starting to get to her. All the sound and movement: she felt herself growing warmer and dizzy. As quickly as she could, she made her way to the side of the hall. Sumbling a bit as she pushed herself out of the edge of the crowd, she caught herself against the giant pedistal of a statue. A brief sense of relief washed over her as she took a deep breath. Resting her head against the cool marble surface of the pedestal, she began to cool down. With her eyes closed, every deep breath brought her further away from dizziness. Now, having collected herself, she felt ready to enjoy herself, perhaps find someone who could translate for her, or at least learn how to say "ale". Yet, this marble pedestal was feeling very comfortable after the extremely long day that looked like it was nowhere near its end. Just a few more moments and she'd have her second wind... Hands on her shoulders pulled her out of her relaxed state.

"I told you I'd come back."

_Legolas_.

A few days ago, she may have jumped away from his touch. Now though, she merely acknowledged him with a turn of the head, not even raising her eyes to him.

"Yes," she said. "You did."

There was a long pause before he pulled her away from the piller in an easy, flowing motion, that managed not to startle her.

"Come," he said, though it didn't sound like as much of a command as she would have expected of him. "Iflaim has been looking for you," and he led her back into the crowd.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Legolas led her by the elbow through the crowd to the other end of the hall. All around them, people celebrated with food, drink and song. The musicians were now on top of one of the many bench-like tables, turning it into an impromptu stage. One of them was playing a string instrument that she had never seen before. She turned to inspect it more closely.

"What is that instrument he's playing?" she asked as she turned.

Roughly, Legolas turned her back in the direction they were headed.

"It doesn't really matter," he said, plainly.

_So_, she thought_, he's as charming as ever_.

Interrupting the general clamor were the trumpets once more. Legolas stopped her from continuing.

"We must wait a moment," he told her.

"But why...?"

He didn't have to answer her question. A strong chant rose from the crowd in unison, three times, then all were silent. Everyone's attention turned to the throne, high above their heads. Standing there was Aragorn. At his right side was Arwen, his _wife_. Mari marveled at her beauty; she looked like everything a queen should be. Just then, she spotted Mari and Legolas. It was apparent she was exerting an effort in containing herself, acknowledging them with a subtle nod. Aragorn spoke.

"It seems a bit unnecessary, but, let the festivities BEGIN!"

Again, the crowd whooped and hollered in appreciation. All activities continued with (if it was possible) even more energy than before. Legolas continued to lead her through the crowd.

"Arwen saw us!" Mari exclaimed excitedly. "Did you see? She smiled...!"

"Yes. You'll see her again soon. Come."

As they emerged from the crowd at the other end of the hall, Mari saw a line of glimmering guards, their helmets ringed with sea gull feathers. They parted quickly upon seeing Legolas, allowing him to pass. Beyond them was a group of people clustered in a circle around a large hearth, seated on comfortable, plush couches.

"Mari!" she heard Iflaim exclaim. Turning, she could see him making space for her next to him. As she began to step toward him, she felt a tightness close around her arm, pulling her back to Legolas.

"_Behave_," he whispered in a severe tone. With that warning, he pushed her forward a bit. Unprepared to be shoved, she stumbled, catching herself on Iflaim's shoulders.

"So eager to be near me, are you?" teased Iflaim, laughing.

Mari could not help but laugh with the bright-eyed elf. There was something contagious about the joy of elves and presumed it must be the same with their disdain, for the more Legolas showed his distaste for her, the more she desired to stab him in the eye. Restraining herself, she took the seat next to Iflaim on the couch. Legolas sat across from her, graciously keeping his gaze on anything but her. Eventually, he seemed to grow bored with the conversation and wandered away without a word to another part of the Great Hall.

"You seem a bit overwhelmed," remarked Elrohir.

"The atmosphere is rather... exciting," Mari confessed. "It's confusing. I just wish I understood what all these people were saying."

"Don't worry," assured Milhir. "You can start your language lessons tomorrow."

"Is there anything else you're eager to do?" asked Alidar.

"Well," she thought, "This place is strange to me. I supposed I'd like to see more of the city. From what I saw when Legolas rushed us through earlier, it's very beautiful."

"Legolas has been here longer than any of us," Elledan said. "Perhaps he can show you the city." Again, the elves around him gave him the Glare of Idiocy for not noticing the animosity between Legolas and Mari. "What?" he asked.

"You _are_ dense," his brother jibed.

"Mari!"

Turning her head, Mari saw that Arwen had come to her side with her husband, King Aragorn.

All the elves bowed in their presence. Mari took this as a cue to do the same.

"This is the person I spoke to you of," she told Aragorn, gently placing her hand on Mari's shoulder.

"Yes, we were introduced earlier by Legolas. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes," she lied. Really, she was overwhelmed, tired and hungry.

"Good. Be sure to eat and drink to your heart's content while you are here, especially tonight. No luxury has been spared in preparing tonight's feast. And if for some reason you don't get your fill, there's always tomorrow night, or the night after that, or the night after that! A week's worth of feasting and merry making for our wedding and the start of a new age of peace."

"Thank you for your kindness."

Before she knew what was happening, Eowyn was at her side, tugging her along. "Food... Come," were the only words she could manage in Sindarian in her heightened state of excitement. She led Mari to one of the bench-like tables that was covered, end to end in flavorful delights. Eowyn filled a plate for her with samples of the very best of each and thrust a mug filled with what smelled like alcohol into her hand.

"Eat! Drink!" she urged excitedly.

As daintily as she could in her state of hunger, Mari heeded Eowyn's words. Everything was delicious and filling; the fruits were sweet, the meat savory, the ale strong. As she ate, Eowyn took the time to point out the important figures in the hall. There was a tall blond man she indicated was her brother, Eomer. Like many other men in the hall, he seemed rugged, handsome and strong. Yet, unlike the others, there was a gentle kindness in his face, much like Faramir. He sat surrounded by four small men she had seen everyone bow to earlier. Eowyn told her that the tallest and next tallest were named Merridoc and Perrigrin, respectively, Merry and Pippin for short. The two were jovial and spry as they danced atop a table, a pint of ale in each of their hands. Their performance brought a good deal of joy to all who were near, with many copying their steps. The two seated small men were named Samwise and Frodo. They were more reserved that the other two, though seemed to be equally enjoying themselves. Unlike Eomer, who was a Man, Mari understood them to be called Hobbits. Loudly jesting with Eomer was another short man, though taller than the tallest of the honored quartet, with a thick long mane of hair and a beard to match. His name was Gimli, also not a Man but a Dwarf. _How many different beings are in this world?_ she wondered. Thus far, there were four present at the feast and five total she had learned of, including Treebeard. Were there more?

It was with these guests, the Dwarf especially, that she saw Legolas passing his time. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, even more so than when he had been with the other Elves. The same glow he had from the night before was now emanating off of him. It was less noticeable in-doors, but it was obvious to her, none the less. With the exception of Eomer, these individuals must have been the ones from the Fellowship described the other night in the Elves' stories. It was hard to believe that this group of individuals, Frodo particularly, had been able to change the course of their world. _Will such a group of people save my world?_she wondered.

Soon Faramir appeared and sat beside Eowyn. The two became absorbed in each other, so Mari spent her time observing the merry company not so far from where she was seated. Eomer had left to join another group of men, leaving those who made up the Fellowship amongst themselves. With Eomer's departure they quieted a bit, though seemed to grow more joyful. There was a fraternal intimacy between them that glowed as brightly as Legolas in the wood when in each others' company; it was then they were the most true forms of themselves.

Legolas noticed her watching. His composure instantly changed, though he did a good job of masking it. Taking hold of a pitcher, he excused himself from his friends and made his way toward her. Mari's heart began to race with anxious anticipation. Would he smack her across the face again, here, in front of all? Would he bash her over the head with that pitcher of ale? Were his knives hidden somewhere that he might cut out her eyes for the audacity of gazing in his direction? He _did_ have a keen way of noticing when she was staring. She tried to tell herself not to, but as much as she was afraid of him, he both puzzled and mesmerized her.

Weaving through the crowd, he finally reached her. Anxiously, she felt for her knives through the fabric of her dress. Knowing they were there made her feel a little braver, though not by much. Kneeling down to fill her cup he leaned in close to her and spoke, malice dripping from his every syllable; "My Lady, to stare in such fashion is considered _rude_."

**LGLGLGLGLG**

She was afraid of him. He could sense it, smell it, even though she did a good job of hiding it in her face and body language. In battle, when he sensed this fear in his enemies, it eased his own fears, made him stronger, more able to defeat them. It sent a bloodthirsty shock of adrenaline through his veins. This was true of the cave troll the Fellowship had encountered in Moria, the orcs at the gates of Mordor and the giant spiders of his homeland. Yet, for some reason, knowledge of her fear did not put him at ease. Her steely gaze seemed to penetrate him, just as she had gazed at him across the fire two nights ago, just as she had moments ago. This only angered him.

"You will not even deny your rude behavior?" he pressed on.

Looking pass him, she turned her attention back to his friends. "They were the Fellowship?" she asked, changing the subject. He would humor her.

"Yes," he answer, also turning to face his friends.

"And you."

"Yes." He turned his attention back to her. _What is she getting at?_

"My good Lord!" exclaimed Faramir, finally taking notice to Legolas. "Come to grace us with your presence?"

The young steward was a tad intoxicated and growing more so by the minute. Legolas thought it only right to give him more alcohol.

"Something told me you needed more ale," he said, filling both Faramir and Eowyn's mugs.

"You're keen elven instinct was once again correct." He crashed his mug to Legolas's pitcher in thanks.

_That would be the first time since they end of the war that my instinct has been correct_, Legolas thought to himself, bitterly.

"Ah! I know the real reason you're here!" Faramir continued, his words slightly slurred. "You've come to check on dear Mari, to make sure I kept my word and watched after her."

Legolas briefly turned to Mari, a false smile on his face. "You read me too well, Faramir. I see you have kept your word."

"Oh! Lord Legolas!" chimed in Eowyn, also on her way to being fully intoxicated. "I was telling Mari about the Fellowship earlier. You should introduce her!"

"That," he replied, turning his attention back to Mari, who had been squirming silently, "is an excellent idea."

None too gently, he took her by the crook of her arm and pulled her to her feet. All those around him were too drunk to notice how he handled her. With a look he told her not to dare break away. She followed him without protest.

"You're lucky I do not tell them of your behavior," she said to him between gritted teeth.

"Would they believe you?" he countered.

"Iflaim would."

She was right. His friend had a soft spot for this woman, particularly in his treatment of her. But she hadn't told Iflaim. Why, he didn't know, but he knew that if she hadn't told him by now, she wasn't going to. He wasn't sure why she chose to silently endure his behavior but it meant that he could toy with her all he wanted without worry of chastisement from his fellows.

"Why do you keep me from others' company?"

"Come. You were getting too comfortable with them." he said, not acknowledging her last comment.

"Why don't you let me stay settled in one place?"

_That's a good question_. He didn't have an answer.

"I thought you said your people were used to moving around." At that, he saw her eyes grow wide, a rage bubbling to the surface at his mention of her people. He needed to quickly distract her, else she make a scene. "Besides," he added, "The halflings have been curious about you, too."

"They have?" she asked, surprised and completely distracted from her original train of thought. He smirked a little at this. She could be endearing at times, making it all the more infuriating when she vexed him.

As they neared the table, the hobbits and dwarf seated around it began to gesture in his and Mari's direction, whispering amongst themselves, as if his elven ears were not able to hear.

"He's finally bringing her over," pipped Pippin, his mouth half full.

"Calm down," Merry urged him with a pat on the back. "You don't want to scare her off."

"She doesn't look like an elf," commented Sam. "Who do you think she might be?"

"We'll know soon enough, laddie," grunted Gimli as he took another drink from his mug and wiping his mouth with his wrist.

Frodo said nothing.

"Done playing bar wench?" chimed Gimli, clapping Legolas on his arm. The elf gave his friend a genuine smile.

"You say that," replied Legolas, pouring ale into Gimli's mug, "but you'll take it back once you're cup is full."

"True enough laddie." Raising his mug in thanks, the Dwarf took a large gulp with a satisfying sigh once he was done swallowing.

Sam and Frodo stood from their seats at his approach. All stared at him attentively, trying desperately to not be caught taking glimpses at the woman at his side.

"Introduce her already!" Pippin practically exploded.

"Pippin!" scolded Merry, swatting his friend on the arm.

"I'm sorry," the younger hobbit apologized. "I couldn't help it."

Briefly, Legolas made a note to be sure Pippin was never alone in the company of Elledan. There was a slight chance that, unsupervised, the two could bring the palace crumbling to the ground.

"All the same," added Gimli, "Who might this fair maiden be?"

"My friends," began Legolas, bringing Mari to stand in front of him, "This is Mari. Elrond and our party stumbled upon her on our way here."

"It's a pleasure to meet you my lady," Merry chirped.

"It's an even greater pleasure for me," said Pippin, shoving his friend out of the way.

"Hello miss," mumbled Sam, barely above a whisper.

"Hello," Mari muttered with a sweet smile and a small curtsy as she'd been taught. Her pronunciation was less clumsy than before. _She learns fast_.

"I'm afraid Mari only speaks Sindarian," Legolas informed his friends.

The Hobbits stared at her in wonder and confusion. This had clearly taken them off guard.

"_It's an honor to meet you_," Frodo greeted in almost perfect Sindarian. Gimli, likewise greeted her in the bit of Sindarian Legolas had begun to teach him in Lorien. He allowed himself a smug smirk at the sight of his Dwarf friend speaking the language of Elves. _What father would think of that!_

It was then that the homesickness he'd had in the woods returned in full force. Though he had been thinking of home, he hadn't given much thought to his father since shortly after Elrond's council that had formed the Fellowship. He imagined how Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood, had reacted upon hearing of his decision to join the Fellowship from Iflaim. He wondered what Iflaim had to deal with upon his return to Mirkwood. Iflaim, who had been sent with the king's second son on delegation to Rivendel, sent with specific instructions to see to the prince's safe return, who had returned not with the prince but with news of the prince's outright defiance of his father's wishes. There were many things he had not considered when deciding to join the Fellowship, one of which included the repercussions he was certain his friend had endured. As Legolas later learned, Iflaim had been demoted in his position in the Royal Guard for his failure to carry out the King's orders. Sometimes, in spite of how the tide of war had turned and the way everything had ended, if he had known what the cost would be, he wasn't certain he would have gone...

When his mind returned to the moment at hand, the Hobbits had taken Mari to their table and were hurrying about trying to teach her the name of every object they could find with the help of Frodo's rudimentary Sindarian.

"CUP," declared Merry, grasping and pointing at his mug.

"CUP," she repeated, taking her own mug in hand.

"ALE," said Pippin, dipping his fingers into Merry's mug and splashing a bit in his friend's face.

"ALE," repeated Mari, taking a sip and pointing to show her understanding.

"She's clearly learned every word worth learning," laughed Gimli.

"You mustn't forget PLEASE and THANK YOU," added Sam.

"Well those are a bit harder to teach, aren't they," countered Merry.

"We'll get to that in time," continued Pippin, raising a dish in the air. "PLATE. This is fun!"

She seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. Watching her twitter about with the Hobbits was entertaining, Legolas thought. Her eagerness almost exceeded that of the young halflings as she did her best to repeat the words and phrases they taught her. Pippin tried to teach her a few foul ones, but was quickly beaten down by he cohorts and his instruction was corrected. He had to admit, she was quick learner; already she had mastered a few key phrases and was working at combining them in different ways. She was really quite captivating to watch when she wasn't opening his soul like a book with her eyes. At least, that's how it seemed when she gazed at him. It felt presumptuous and aggressive when she looked at him. What right had she to delve into the depths of his mind without an invitation?

_There it goes again_, he thought, frustrated she had vexed him once again. Though, it had been his own doing that time, as she was currently preoccupied with explaining the status of the plates before her.

"This plate is empty," she said in her odd accent, pointing to a plate that was indeed devoid of food. "This plate is full," she said, pointing to the dish in front of Merry. "There is much food on the table." This time she spread her arms apart, gesturing to the spread of fruits and meats before her.

"You're a quick study, Mari," exclaimed Merry. "We'll have you reading the great classics of Hobbiton in no time!"

"Don't forget about the Dwarvin Chronicles," Gimli added with a proud puff of his pipe.

Though she couldn't have known what they were saying, she laughed at their eager display.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari was thoroughly enjoying herself with the hobbits and Gimli the dwarf. She almost forgot that Legolas was there until she caught him staring at her. No, not staring, but looking. Truly _looking _at her for the first time. She could tell that he wasn't judging, merely observing. His eyes were not cruel as they had been every other time his gaze fell upon her. Was it the presence of his friends that once again cooled his temper? Was it the ale he drank that calmed his madness? She didn't worry too long much less care; for all he was capable of, she wanted to make peace with him. Or maybe not. He seemed so keen to keep anyone from discovering his other self, especially now that the wedding celebration was underway. Perhaps provoking him to lash out at her for all to see would be to her advantage. But then again, what if no one came to her aid? Even if he wanted to save face, it was possible that the protocol of this culture would prevent others from intervening in disputes. These people had all survived a war; seeing a woman killed, much less a foreigner, might not even phase them.

She was growing frustrated with her own indecisiveness. She had never been like this. Not until the war, anyway. Hoping to be met with something closer to kindness, Mari turned to Legolas. What she saw was nothing. His face was entirely empty, completely blank. For the first time in her life she found herself unable to tell what a person was thinking, and that scared her. _But he's not a person_, she reminded herself, but it wasn't a very comforting thought.

"...Mari," she heard one of the hobbits call her. Snapping back to attention, she turned and faced the small figure addressing her. It was Frodo. He looked a bit worried.

"My apologies, Frodo," she bashfully responded. "I was thinking."

He seemed both curious and a tad more worried. "About what?"

She did her best to smile reassuringly, even adding a bit of a laugh to throw him off. "It is nothing. It's just been a long couple of days is all."

The small man didn't seem convinced, but he let her alone for the time being. There was something about this hobbit that unsettled her. She wasn't sure what it was, but she got the sense that he had... endured something. She saw a remnant of darkness in his eyes, perhaps the same one she saw still strong in Legolas. If it had left Frodo, perhaps it could leave Legolas...

For no reason she could discern, the Hobbits began to grow more excited. "Gandalf!" they cried toward the joyful crowd of wedding guests. Gimli, too, grew a bit more joyous, eliciting a deep chuckle. Even Legolas appeared to be repressing a smile, though he couldn't hide it in his eyes. Turning to where they were looking, Mari saw a tall, old man dressed in white making his way toward them. As he got closer, she realized he was the man who had crowned Aragorn and wedded him to Arwen. This man had a stately or priestly significance, she guessed, and for some reason her skin prickled just beneath her ears when he was around.

Mari spent a good deal more time in the company of the Fellowship, receiving quite a few strange stares from those who passed. It unsettled her a bit; she wasn't sure what she had done to merit such an odd reception until Legolas' voice murmured an explanation over her shoulder. "You're eating with war heroes. They're curious to know how you are so lucky as to be in our presence."

She noted the hint of sarcasm in his voice, thus forgave him of the potential arrogance his statement could have carried. _Lucky, indeed_, she thought.

At a certain point in the evening, the music grew louder. Everyone who had been seated stood and began clapping along with the rhythm of the music. Mari joined them, as not to insult or seem out of place. Many people, including Eowyn and Faramir, went to join a circle forming at the center of the hall. Soon, almost the entire hall was in the process of being pulled into a giant dancing ring, Mari included. Before she knew what was happening, a man had grabbed her hand. As she rose to be pulled into the dance, she felt a hard tug on her upper arm. Turning back, she saw Legolas holding onto her, a stern look in his eye. Smoothly, he slid his hand down from her arm to her own hand, moving with her as the other man continued to pull her into the dance.

At first, Mari was certain Legolas had only joined the dance to keep an eye on her. As the dance progressed, however, she had second thoughts. He grew distracted, his gaze moving to pass over the entire crowd and a strange aura surrounded him. His eyes grew brighter, his step lighter, his grip softer. She, an adept dancer, found the steps to the dance confusing at times. He easily followed the steps, adding his own, almost unnoticeable flair of elegance. The hobbits, too short to join in, cheered him on, a small crease appearing at corner of Legolas' mouth at the sound of their voices. Was it a smile trying to escape? If she hadn't know any better, she might have thought he was happy.

The circle suddenly changed tempo, taking Mari completely by surprise. The huge ring spit into smaller rings of six people, then into pairs. She had simply been letting the string of people she was attached to determine placement in the dance. So, it took her completely unawares when it turned out that her partner for the paired portion of the dance was none other than her surly elven guard. His intent gaze now returned to her, no longer able to distract himself with the other dancers. Though his complete attention was back on her, Mari sensed his lightheartedness from the group dance still remained. He twirled and shuffled her about the crowed as other couples did the same, never once bumping into another pair. His grip stayed light, and though this was probably her best opportunity to escape from him for the evening, she remained, for to be honest, she was having fun.

She gazed up at him and saw true joy in his eyes. The darkness inside him had dimmed for the time being and she thought that maybe she'd get a peek at what Legolas had been before his soul was scarred by war. Deeper she sunk into the depths of his eyes. She could see now what Arwen had been saying about she and he being the last elven children born; he was far younger than the other elves. There was an eagerness and tenacity inside of him that she hadn't sensed in others of his ilk. His demeanor was almost gentle. In his hands she felt a familiar tingling though she couldn't recall why it was so familiar.

As the dance began to climax, the pairs of dancers began turning at rapid pace. To keep her from flying away, Legolas grabbed a better hold of her hands, pulling her in closer. Her heart was racing at the speed and dizziness. The dance ended in thunderous applause and cheering, though Mari herself couldn't as she was pressed too closely to her partner, panting, slightly out of breath. He, on the other hand, appeared entirely calm. As the seconds passed, though, his former demeanor returned. He grew stiff and distant, his grip on her growing tight and uncomfortable. With urgency, he began to usher her back to the table with the hobbits. All the while, though, Mari couldn't help but continue to gaze at him, amazed.

"What?" he asked, in his usual perturbed tone.

She almost giggled at how predictable he was.

"If it's possible," she said, "I do believe you were enjoying yourself."

The words had left her mouth before she could stop them. The combination of exhaustion and ale had kept her from controlling her mouth and now she regretted them, worrying what retaliation they might incur.

He looked down at her with a blank expression. "We wood elves have a keen fondness for music and dance."

She was stunned and confused by his emotionless response and placid expression.

"Are you saying you had fun," she pressed on, at the same time damning the effects of the ale.

"No. Chaperoning you has made that quite impossible. But if I were to enjoy any part of the evening, it would have been this dance."

"I'm sorry to have so affected your evening," she mumbled, feeling as low as a dung beetle.

"It couldn't be helped." With that, he led her back to the Fellowship's table with the least aggressive tug he'd given her all evening.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

With a stumble to all their steps, Eowyn and Mari led a fairly drunken Faromir through the halls.

_And he's supposed to be escorting us_, Mari thought, bemusedly. The three came first to Mari's room.

"I bid you a good night's rest," Faromir slured in nearly incomprehensible Sindarian.

Mari found herself laughing at his drunken attempt at being cordial, responding equally uneliquently, "And the same to you, Lord Faromir."

Grinning and leaning forward, he murmured, "I hope I shant be resting much tonight." At that he cast a quick glance at Eowyn and Mari blanched, then breaking down into hysterics.

Eowyn smiled, but seemed confused, being that she knew hardly a word of the language the other two were speaking. Deciding it was time to leave the two lovers to themselves, Mari bowed her head in a silent good-bye before ducking into her room, the sound of her two escorts ambling toward what she supposed would be an eventful and enjoyable night for the two of them.

Changing her clothes was more difficult than she thought it would be. Her body was tender and sore from riding all day and dancing all night. In addition to this, the dress Arwen had given her to wear was significantly more difficult to undo. With some struggle, she found her way out of her clothes and into the night dress she had been wearing under her clothes during her escape. Faster than she thought possible, she found herself succumbing to sleep.

But she did not rest. She was tormented by nightmares of her family and the new terrors of this strange Middle Earth. Over and over, she watched as her family was slaughtered a new and different way every time. In reality, she hadn't seen them die, but her mind created images more horrible than what could have been, yet in dreams they seemed more real. Interspersed with these images were visions of talking trees and armored men on horseback who chased her as she tried to escape the nightmares in lucid moments; at these points she knew herself to be dreaming and saw the door toward waking, yet these figures blocked her path, pushing her back into the horrors of sleep. As she searched for a way to endure her family's murder for the hundredth time, one of the German soldiers grabbed her and began dragging her toward the door. She kicked and screamed until she realized he promised her release. "Why are you doing this?" she asked him. Turning to face her, the soldier's helmet was gone and his features began to change. His uniform melted away, revealing lighter fabrics of green and grey. His hair grew longer. Finally his face transformed itself until she found herself staring at the Elf Prince, Legolas. She found she could not speak as he roughly shoved her through the door into consciousness. Gasping, Mari breached into a waking state.

Trying to catch her breath, she began shivering violently. The dream had been too vivid, too terrifying. She half expected a Gestapo to leap from beneath her bed and kill her. Mari soon realized that she was crying. Suddenly she felt suffocated. The deeper she breathed, the more it felt like she was being strangled by her very bed clothes. She tore them off but realized it did no good; it was the walls of the room that were suffocating her. With shaking hands, she put her nightgown back on with some difficulty then nearly tore the door from its hinges in exiting the room.

Once in the hall, she began walking. She walked and walked and walked, leaning against walls at times for support. There were times that she hear people approaching, but she was coherent enough to know to hide in a door way, around a corner or behind a tapestry. She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that her feet were taking her somewhere. Distantly she hear a loud booming, but didn't think about what it could be. After some twenty minutes of wandering, she feel the wind and a cool wetness touch her cheek. Blinking, she saw she had walked to the entrance of a balcony. Outside there was a massive storm taking place. The booming from before had been thunder. As if to confirm her realization, the hall was lit by a great display of lightning and an accompanying pounding. Mari didn't flinch. Instead, her feet carried her forward into the storm's welcoming embrace.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Something was gnawing at his senses. It was his first night spent entirely inside since the Fellowship treked through the Mines of Moria and, like then, the lack of a sky above his head and dirt beneath his feet was beginning to make him anxious. In the past, there had been guard duty or a camp fire to keep him occupied, but now, in the solitary quiet of the night, Legolas had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him entertained and that was a very dangerous thing indeed. He dared not peek at what lay dormant in the chasms of his mind, afraid of what inner truth he would discover there. He thanked the Valar when the storm began. Thunder struck like the footsteps of mumakils, awakening his recent memory of the dark thrill of battle. Throwing the shutters and panes to his windows open, he closed his eyes as the first drops of rain and billowing wind hit his face. He remembered the walls of Helms Deep and how, when all things seemed hopeless, it had started to rain. He smiled and laughed quietly as he had wanted to then but felt too ashamed to in such a serious moment. He no longer felt shame for anything.

Upon the first strike of lightning, he opened his eyes again. Breathing deeply, he watched as the terrible flashes of light illuminated the city below him. The view from his window directly overlooked a small public courtyard. In the brief flashes he saw rats scurry from their hiding places to escape from drowning. He saw hooded, unsavory characters amble through the causeways as though there were nothing peculiar or unpleasant about the weather or time of day. These rats and roughens were the ones the city belonged to when no one was looking; when the White City turned black, agents of pestilence and malice ruled. The same was true of people, he had noticed. _And elves_, he thought, smirking bitterly in self loathing.

The storm and these new-found discoveries were amusing, but the gnawing persisted. He paced his room and pulled at his hair. He closed the window. He opened it again. He checked that his knives were still sharp even though he knew their elven crafting ensured they'd never grow dull. Closing his windows for the final time, he left his room and began to roam the halls of the palace. As he walked, the gnawing became a tugging, as if he had forgotten something and was struggling to remember or as if he had left something somewhere and was now intent on retrieving it. He felt himself following something like an unspoken whisper, a quiet taunting from the very walls. _Over here_, they seemed to say from one hall to the next, so he followed it. He followed it with an eagerness and urgency he had not felt since his last kill almost a week ago.

Someone was coming, casually stepping into a doorway, he hid from sight until the person passed; he wasn't doing anything wrong, but he hated the idea of running into someone and having to exchange polite words when he had none. He expected guards to to pass by, but instead saw the slight figure of a woman pass. At first, he thought her to be a ghost, what with her white, wispy gown and her deranged expression; she seemed a soul astray. As he watched her walk away, however, he saw she had the same distinct figure and hair as Mari. That this lost soul was indeed the woman who had been plaguing his mind.

Before he realized it, he was following her. He kept a good distance, always around a corner, though he wasn't sure she would have realized his presence were he any closer. Where she was headed, he didn't know. Around them, the storm's thunder rumbled through the castle, seeming to get louder the farther he followed her. As she approached a balcony, it became clear why the thunder had been growing louder.

She walked to the side of the archway and fell out of sight for a moment. Stepping out onto the stone balcony, Legolas emerged into the storm and was astonished by what he saw: as if taking a casual stroll, he saw Mari tenuously strutting across the thick fence of the balcony, a ten story drop on the other side of the rail. The sound of the storm was deafening. The roaring whips of Gondor's flags above them echoed almost as loudly as thunder. When the next flash of lightening hit, she caught sight of him. She stared blankly at him, this time taking a few steps without watching where her feet were landing. One time her foot slid dangerously close to the edge of the ledge, sending the image of her plummeting body spinning through his mind. It would be a horrible sight for Arwen and Aragorn to wake to the day after their wedding.

"Get down from there," he implored her, practically shouting over the wind and the rain.

"Why?" she asked.

Reaching out, he offered her his hand. "Do you want to die?"

"Yes," she told him, not a hint of doubt in her voice. The only thing that wavered was her posture as the skies thundered. The wind bit at her skin and tore at her night dress. Her hair whipped around her head like the dark ribbons of the crested flags above while breath came in puffs of vapor as it hit the cold air. He saw a rage rising within her. She looked wild and unhinged, liable to do anything.

"There are better ways to do it."

"At your hands?" Her rhetorical question was filled with fury, daring him to answer. He refused. It was then he saw a change in her eyes. Her rage turned to bitterness and spite in an instant. _What a strange creature the human woman is_. She haphazardly paced along the stone balcony's ledge. "I'm sure your hands know of killing, sweet prince. You were part of the famed Fellowship, no? I'm sure that in your five-hundred years you've learned the best ways to die and to kill. I have heard tales of your adventures spill from the mouths of many, save yours. Tell me, what ways of killing tie your tongue?"

He felt the blood drain from his face and air torn from his lungs. _How dare she! _He considered pushing her off the ledge himself.

"Yes," she continued, "I've known many like you. You told yourself that you were a warrior, that death dealing is your trade and that the ones you kill are monsters. But you became more than a hero on the battle field. It wasn't long before you enjoyed your job, took great pleasure in taking life, especially if it was vengeful. You lusted for the taste of blood that was not your own. That's why you like your knives best; they're thirsty and get you closest to the kill. It seems right that you, of the oldest and wisest of all the creatures on Middle Earth should be granted such knowledge. Might you be gracious enough to teach me?"

It was taking all of his willpower to not send her to her death. But what she said was true, all of it true. He did enjoy killing. Killing her wouldn't make that less true. Though the act might thrill him, he wouldn't feel any better _after_ her body had hit the ground. She'd still be right and he'd still be a monster. To kill her would be pointless except to prove her point. Furthermore, he saw now that her intent was to antagonize him to do what it was he desired; to kill her. No. He would not grant her the satisfaction. He instead watched as her mood changed again, this time to sad and confused.

"You seem so much like a man, Legolas," she said, her voice full of wonder. "Yet, you are so different. Does the difference lie here?" She illustrated her question by reaching out and touching her hand to his chest, where his heart lie. "Or is it as simple as these?" This time her hand trailed up, running her fingers along the shell of his ear before resting her fingers at the tip. With a hitch in his breathing, Legolas took a quick step away from her. She clutched her hand back, as if burned, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Somehow, he knew that she realized what her simple touch had done.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning came down, connecting with the huge flag pole above their heads. It startled both of them equally, except that it made Mari loose her footing. With a gentle gasp, he saw her accept the inevitable fall with a mixed look of terror and glee. In spite of her speech, purposefully aiming to anger him, perhaps intended to get him to push her, he could not let her die, especially after all the killing she had accused him of, (of which he'd been guilty). He had to prove to himself that inside his heart something was still alive and capable of valuing life. Leaping forward, he reached out and grabbed her, both of his arms wrapping around her hips and legs, and hauled her from the edge of the ledge. She fell forward against him, her balance completely lost, her life in his hands yet again. Her hands came to grip his shoulders and head for support, her fingers coming to tangle in his hair, the heel of her palm brushing slightly against the tip of his ear. The wet fabric that covered her belly pressed up against his face as he held on to her bottom and her legs. In truth, the fabric was so drenched, it was as if he were feeling her skin itself. He could feel her rapid breaths rushing through her as the reality of the moment began to wash over her. It raced in sync with the stronger sheets of rain that began to fall. As she began to loosen her grip on him, he lowered her to the floor. Down her body slid, against his face and chest, her hands trailing behind as she held on to the front of his shirt to keep herself from falling to the floor.

Once her feet touched the ground, though, she did not let go. She remained clutching to him, shivering, perhaps from her near spill off the edge of the castle or perhaps from the cold of the rain. She seemed the weakest, the most frail he had ever seen her. Legolas was not sure what came over him, but he put his arms around her in a comforting fashion. It was pity, he guessed, but even when her shaking subsided, he kept her in his loose embrace. Her body heaved against his as she took several deep, self-containing breaths. She then looked up at him, eyes wide and tormented. He saw them fade, however, and grow empty like the embers of a fire going out. It was as if her spirit had left or retreated somewhere within her. Pushing herself away, she began to tread back inside, her fingers lingering on his chest as she moved away.

He watched as she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. His keen eyes could see as far until she turned the corner. Just before she turned, though, she briefly caught his eyes with her own. It was that same stare that had speared his soul from across the camp fire and during the wedding celebration. It was taunting and knowing. _What is it she thinks she knows? _he wondered.

Taking a hesitant step, Legolas sunk back into the dry, cool darkness of the castle. Still, the sound of her wet footsteps could be heard, several yards ahead. Silently he followed her watery footprints on the stone floor. As he turned the corner, he could now see her, her body gliding through the hallway like a drowned victim risen from the depths. At first, he wasn't sure where she was going then he realized she was headed back to her room. Obviously. Where else had he thought she'd be going? He wasn't sure, but for some reason thought she seemed too restless to return to sleep. He continued to follow her, curious if she would change her course, curious if she was even aware that he was following her.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Dazed, she let the dancing of the flames in her fireplace hypnotize her. It wasn't working. She still had thoughts of her nightmare spining through her mind. Then she heard her door opening. Glancing back, she saw Legolas standing at the threshold. He was soaked, as she was, and had the look of one who was sleep deprived, as she also was. Though he was inhuman and terrified her, in that moment he looked stunning and vulnerable. It stirred her to the very pit of her womanhood. Against her will and all she knew to be right, she was struck with an overwheming desire for him. This desire only lasted a moment, but it was long enough for him to notice. With a slight cock of his head, he took a step into her room. Even though the desire she had felt had faded as quickly as it came, she couldn't look away from him, his inate beauty captivating her as the flames of the fireplace had. As he took another step into the room, Mari saw a new darkness pass across his face. Without turning around, he bolted the door shut.

She knew he moved quickly and there would be no turning back in

three...

two...

one.

As she let him run his hands over her body, she went over in her mind why she was going through with this. She needed a distraction, a large one at that. Part of her was scared of what he might do, but more than anything she wanted to be lost in the hypersensitization that fornication offered. So she let him take her. She didn't help in his advances but she didn't hinder them. They began with his hands on her hips, then they moved up to her breasts. Pushing her hair over her shoulder, exposing her wet skin to the air, he traced his fingers over her shoulders then leaned down and kissed her neck. _That actually felt quite nice,_ she thought. Mari felt herself sigh and felt him roughly squeeze her breast in response. She let her eyes close, not particularly eager to witness whatever it was he would do to her once these pleasantries ceased.

He began to unbutton the front of her night gown as he continued to place feather light kisses on the skin that ran from her ear to her shoulder. He paid particularly close attention to the shell of her ear, nipping it and lightly touching his tongue to it. _He's skilled at this_, she briefly thought as she leaned against his body, realizing she had made the right decision. He would be a suitable distraction. Soon her night gown was unbuttoned and his had reached inside, actually touching her breast. Somehow, in spite of the fact that he had been soaked by the same freezing rain as she, his hands were warm. Her own skin felt like ice thanks to the rain, though she suspected the emptiness of her soul to be the real cause.

Already, she could feel the pleasing delirium washing over her. Was it right, she wondered, to be doing this with _this_ man, of all people? _He's not even a Man_, she reminded herself. What made her so sure he could help her? Did she not fear him? _?_Yes. Yet, it was this fear that drew her to him; like a moth to the flame, she saw the darkness that lived inside him and wanted to be near to it. Truly, she hoped it would engulf her, for her own destruction was what she craved. He had stopped her from jumping off the ledge but she would not let him deny her of _this_.

She clutched her head from the confusion of it all, growing steadily distracted by the play of his fingers across her skin. One of his hands moved downward and began pulling up the hem of her gown. Legolas then took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, placing small kisses along her knuckles, then moving up along her arm to bite the inside of her elbow before returning to the expanse of her neck. Without even realizing it, she found herself clutching his head, keeping his lips pressed against her, her other hand moving to join the one at her breast.

Soon he had pulled her nightgown high enough to reach between her legs, lightly running his finger over the place of pleasure she'd often had to point out to previous lovers. He found it instantly, circling it rhythmically with his finger tips. Before she could stop herself, he let out a soft whining moan. Holding her body tighter, he began rubbing a bit harder against that spot while pressing a lingering kiss against her neck. She felt herself growing weaker to the touch of his prodding fingers; attempting to stay upright, she leaned more heavily against him. At that, he stopped touching her, instead moving to continue unbuttoning her nightgown. Looking down, she watched his fingers move over the small white circles lined down her chest. With each pass, another button came undone, revealing another inch of flesh. The buttons went down to her belly, but he only undid them half way. At that point, he began to peel the wet fabric down her shoulders, kissing her back once it was uncovered, peeling it down her back and stomach. She felt like a piece of fruit being parted from her skin by a knife; indeed, she knew he was going to devour her as if she were.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

As he began undressing, he watched her sitting on the bed, her eyes unfocused, her mind clearly detached, and wondered if he would be gentle or cruel to her. Cruelty would be much easier; he could hit her, strangle her, press on when she begged him to stop. She had made no objection when he had maneuvered her to the bed, but he doubted that she was even coherent enough to appreciate any kindness he might choose to give. It could be just as pleasing to him either way, the first approach deeply sating and the second deeply relaxing. Just as he removed his trousers, the room was filled with a powerful clap of thunder and a strike of lightning. He caught her eyes then and became locked in her stare. In that stare, he felt suddenly as if the shuttle of a loom had strung them both together; he could not leave the room even if he tried and he most certainly felt as if something sharp had lodged itself in his gullet. There he saw the same wildness he'd seen in her when he'd first caught her, when she was pressed beneath him on the forest floor. He saw a glimmer of the wildness he had seen moments ago on the balcony but there was also something else...

She looked away after a brief moment, but he grabbed her chin and turned her back to face him, needing to be certain of what he had seen there. He was right. She gazed at him _provocatively_, not in an alluring or tempting sense, but intending (it seemed) to antagonize him, just as she had done on the balcony. In those eyes he saw a spiteful glint, daring him to proceed. _What shall you do?_ she seemed to say in the same way a cat would to a mouse it has cornered. _"Who is she to dare me,"_ he thought, _"When it is I who towers above her miniscule, shivering, naked body?"_ Yet she mocked his indecision, possibly his masculinity, and in that moment, he no longer thought about cruelty or kindness. All he wanted was to dash out that presuming glint of spite.

Legolas had never lain with a human woman before, but he imagined there would be little difference between coupling with her than with a she elf. After all, as the saying went, 'The plow needs no map to find the field.' _When was it that I last laid with another?_he wondered. He could not remember. Had it been at the festival last spring in his father's court? Perhaps. Yes, he recalled a dark corner and the merry eyes of a lord's daughter. What he now realized was that he had also forgotten how soft skin that was not his own could be, how well feminine curves fit into his hands, how comfortably his hips could rest between another's thighs, and how all his thought could boil down to a single song of sensation.

He suddenly realized that she hadn't moved since sitting on the bed. He moved her to lie prone, and it was he who had spread her legs. She was indeed still breathing, calm, even breaths that brushed against his chest, as if asleep, but he could feel her heart racing when he touched her neck and could see her open eyes, and thus knew she was awake. Yet she was clearly not _here_. For a moment he thought better of what he was about to do. _Only for a moment_.

She let out a soft whimper as he eased into her, her hands taking firm hold of his wrists. To him it sounded fearful and he worried she might begin to protest, something that would make the process somewhat more uncomfortable. Laying one of his hands loosely around the base of her throat, he persuaded her to remain silent. When she quieted, as he wished, he responded kindly, lazily running his fingers along her neck.

Her body was small and her insides were tight, tighter than he'd imagined they might be. It worried him that he had imagined that at all. When had he first been thinking that? Surely not over the past days in coming to Minas Tirith. Surely not. He had been too angry at himself to bother thinking himself worthy of touching another life form in such a manner. Not even when he healed her injured back (which now showed no sign of having ever been cut or infected) had he felt any desire for her. Surely not during the wedding feast when he was worried she might tell someone of his abuses toward her. No, it had been minutes ago, on the balcony, with her night gown and hair soaked and whipping about her in the wind, a wild fire in her eye. In that moment she seemed crazed, unpredictable, and nearly as damaged as him. It was then the thought of having her (or killing her) had crossed Legolas' mind.

Part of him was sure she would jump to her death, but she hadn't. Instead she'd reached out and touched his ear. His skin still held goose bumps from it. His desire only skyrocketed at her touch though it hadn't been what drove his decision to follow her. Or had that been a decision at all? Had she merely vexed him again, called to him wordlessly with her fearful, stubborn eyes as she had earlier during the feast? Could this all be part of _her_ plan?

_No_. She would not be crying out so, pained by the act of their coupling, if it was what she desired. Her eyes would not be shut and her head would not be tossing in a frenzy if pleasure was what she felt. Everything Legolas knew about carnal matters told him this was rape, yet something he didn't know, something that connected him to her, told him she was indeed feeling pleasure. The way her legs wrapped around him and her hands gripped his upper arms, these were signs of compliance and desire. Yet, the sounds she made, these illustrated a hurt he had never before encountered. What was more, her cries roused him to press on. Whatever was telling him to press on was also letting him feel all of her; all her pain and ecstasy. It dulled momentarily with each of his thrusts, but her hurt was was building up inside of him, pooling at his core and there was nowhere it could go...

She grew tighter around him. It was then he heard another voice cry out. He was surprised and confused to realize that it was his own. Strangely, it felt good to do this, somehow adding to the pleasure in his loins. It was a relief and yet he was appalled by his own nature, acutely aware of how desperate and unhinged he sounded. Base and primal. Just like her.

He didn't care.

In fact, he reveled in it.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

_He is holding back_, she thought as he smoothly thrust into her, pulling a weaker cry from her lungs. She could sense his hesitance, his restraint and uncertainty, but she could not understand why. She had given herself to him completely and he had not taken advantage of that. After seeing the rage in his eyes on the balcony, she had been certain he would lay waste to the most delicate parts of her body when given the chance, yet now there was a part of him that showed restraint. This murderous, inhuman creature was being a gentle, tender lover, giving her body all the more pleasure and yet, because of that, torturing her soul all the more. Why would he not give her the self loathing release she desired? Where had the darkness gone?

It was still there. She could see it when she closed her eyes; war, death, monsters, demons, a dark place, pain, torture, his own torture, a scar... They had taken something from him, physically stolen a part of his spirit, his soul. She cried out in terror at what she saw and felt from his memory. Or was it from the physical pleasure she felt in the present? She opened her eyes to escape it but only became lost in his fierce eyes. Their shade had changed again, this time to a blue-green, stormy like the sea. In them she saw such sadness, sadness of the magnitude she herself was trying to escape. Sadness and something else, the same something that drew her to him when she danced.

_No_, she thought as he pumped into her. _This isn't what I wanted_. She tried to look anywhere but his eyes but could not escape him; he was everywhere. What was strangest was how safe she felt; though she knew what he was capable of and remembered what he had done, in this moment, with him inside her and she beneath him, she felt the most secure she had since the Germans invaded France. The terrors she saw when she closed her eyes, she knew they couldn't reach her. And what was this new sense of warmth? Beneath her skin she had felt so cold since her family died. Now, every place that their bodies met seemed to be poured over with sun light, like thick honey, evenly distributing itself across the surface of her skin. On this dark and stormy night, Mari felt coated in sun.

More sounds spilled forth from her lips, none of them protests. She could not control it and felt ashamed for behaving so wantonly. She had given herself to him to be rendered numb yet she found her whole body awakened and engulfed in... something. She was experiencing a totality of feeling, distracting her from her initial pain and confusion but creating new forms of these two torments. Perhaps this she could stand, perhaps this could serve the purpose she had intended in bedding Legolas. If only she could feel less physical pleasure. With each of his thrusts Mari summoned all of her power and tried her hardest to push out everything in her mind but he filled her so totally, figuratively and literally. Even his deep, though few, moans seemed to penetrate her core.

Over and over, smoothly and firmly he thrust into her, the pleasure building inside of her like bricks being stacked until, finally, the tower tumbled.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

It was happening again. Where his hands touched her body, a golden trail of light was left behind on her skin. She didn't seem to notice as her breasts and belly took on a golden glow; she was too preoccupied feeling... whatever it was she was feeling, that which looked and sounded like pain but felt like pleasure. Legolas cared not to think what it could be, fearful he'd see himself for what he was, but also too overwhelmed by her emotions to truly process them.

Not only did his hands create this glow, but anywhere his skin touched hers, a soft honey glow emanated from the point of contact. As the golden hue grew more saturated, her cries seemed to grow more pained, her breathing more erratic, her insides tighter. The sound, the sight and the feel of her tore a string of similar cries from his lips. She seemed like the sea itself, under the torment of the very storm that raged outside, with waves crashing upon rocks and whirlpools spinning out of control, or so he imagined for he had never seen the sea though he dreamed of it often and sometimes saw it while awake, behind his closed eyes. And then she climaxed, an abrupt cry of shock ripping from her lungs as her whole body arched up and she clung to him, her insides rendering a tighter pulse around him that nearly made him gasp. Her grip was as strong as it had been on the ledge when the lightning struck, except this time he could feel her nails digging into the flesh of his should blades. Like a spur to the charger, he involuntarily pressed on at a greater pace. Faster he pumped as her insides continued contracting around him. Soon he reached his own shuddering release amid her dying cries.

Once they were apart and two flesh again, he felt the pain he had known since the war's end become magnified, throbbing back to life. It was then he realized that their coupling had dulled this pain; in experiencing her pain he had forgotten his own. Perhaps she was the key to keeping his pain dormant. He also realized he wanted to sleep. How long had it been since he had slept? It was the nightmares that had made him stop. Turning toward her, he skimmed his eyes along the curved line of her spine until it disappeared under the sheets. Maybe he would try to sleep tonight.

**LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG**

Mari flinched away when she felt a touch on her shoulder. Turning around she saw Legolas, hand outreached, though his hand was tentatively pulling back. So caught up in her own remorse, he had forgotten he was there. His eyes seemed empty, no longer as alive and chasomus as they'd been before. His stillness and porcelain features made him appear like a statue, the kind lay prostate atop a tomb or sarcophagus. But then he spoke.

"Let me stay the night."

"Why?" she asked.

"That I might... hold you."

His answer was hesitant, quieter than his request. She was shocked and unprepared for such a request; she never would have expected such a request to come from him and hadn't been prepared to spend the whole night in his company. _What's he playing at?_ she wondered. The fear had returned. Would he strangle her in her sleep? Had he hidden his knives somewhere? Is that why he had saved her on the balcony? Did he want to kill her himself?

"Do what you will, Master Elf. You have already done as you wished with me all of this evening..."

"Have I been so terrible to you, as of late?" he asked, his tone just as hesitant, but his features growing hard.

Turning away from him, she laid on her side. "You took death from me. I think I might have preferred you took life from me instead. Take whatever else it is you want and be done with me."

His arms roughly wrapped around her from behind, bringing her flat against his body. Forcing his face to the crook of her neck and breathed deep, his lips barely gracing her skin, more so by coincidence than any desire to kiss her, it seemed. She looked down at his hands, one pressed flat against her belly and the other grasping her breast. They were large compared to her own hands. Large enough to wrap around most of her neck as they had done before.

_Would it be so terrible if he killed me?_ she wondered. _It's what I had been planning to do myself, isn't it?_ It made her sick to think that he would do it, though, instead of her.

With less care for her life than before, Mari fell asleep in the arms of the beast.


End file.
